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A  KNIGHT   OF  THE 
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BOOKS   BY  JOHN   FOX,   JR. 

PUBLISHED  BY  CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 

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But  every  knight  and  every  mounted  policeman  took  out  after  the  outlaw. 


A    KNIGHT    OF    THE 
CUMBERLAND 


BY 

JOHN   FOX,  JR. 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 

F.  C.  YOHN 


CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
NEW  YORK  ::  1906 


LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


Copyright,   1906,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published,    Octobtr,   tgo6 


CONTENTS 

Page 

/.    The  Blight  in  the  Hills  3 

II.    On  the   Wild  Dog's   Trail  2O 

///.    The  Auricular    Talent  of  the  Hon. 

Samuel  Budd  37 

IV.  Close  Quarters  55 

V.  Back  to  the  Hills  83 

VL    The  Great  Day  94 

VIL    At  Last — The   Tournament  113 

Fill    The  Knight  Passes  156 


Copyright,   1906,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

Publhhtdy   Octobtr,  igo6 


CONTENTS 

Page 

/.    The  Blight  in  the  Hills  3 

II.    On  the   Wild  Dog9 5  Trail  20 

///.    The  Auricular    Talent  of  the  Hon. 

Samuel  Eudd  37 

IV.  Close  Quarters  55 

V.  Back  to  the  Hills  83 

VL    The   Great  Day  94 

VIL    At  Last — The   Tournament  113 

V1IL    The  Kmght  Passes  I56 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

From  Drawings  by  F.  C.  Yohn 

But  every  knight  and  every  mounted  police 
man  took  out  after  the  outlaw     Frontispiece 

Facing 

"  If  Fd  a'  known  hit  was  you  Pd  a  stayed    page 
in  jail  "  1 6 

"Mart's    a    gittin'    ready    fer    a    tourney- 

ment"  58 

The  Knight  of  the   Cumberland  reined   in 

before  the  Blight  136 


A  KNIGHT   OF   THE   CUMBERLAND 


THE   BLIGHT  IN  THE    HILLS 

HIGH  noon  of  a  crisp  October  day, 
sunshine  flooding  the  earth  with 
the  warmth  and  light  of  old  wine  and, 
going  single-file  up  through  the  jagged 
gap  that  the  dripping  of  water  has  worn 
down  through  the  Cumberland  Mountains 
from  crest  to  valley-level,  a  gray  horse 
and  two  big  mules,  a  man  and  two  young 
girls.  On  the  gray  horse,  I  led  the  tor 
tuous  way.  After  me  came  my  small 
sister — and  after  her  and  like  her,  mule- 
back,  rode  the  Blight — dressed  as  she 
would  be  for  a  gallop  in  Central  Park  or 
to  ride  a  hunter  in  a  horse  show. 

[3] 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

I  was  taking  them,  according  to  prom 
ise,  where  the  feet  of  other  women  than 
mountaineers  had  never  trod — beyond  the 
crest  of  the  Big  Black — to  the  waters  of 
the  Cumberland — the  lair  of  moonshiner 
and  feudsman,  where  is  yet  pocketed  a 
civilization  that,  elsewhere,  is  long  ago 
gone.  This  had  been  a  pet  dream  of  the 
Blight's  for  a  long  time,  and  now  the 
dream  was  coming  true.  The  Blight  was 
in  the  hills. 

Nobody  ever  went  to  her  mother's 
house  without  asking  to  see  her  even  when 
she  was  a  little  thing  with  black  hair, 
merry  face  and  black  eyes.  Both  men  and 
women,  with  children  of  their  own,  have 
told  me  that  she  was,  perhaps,  the  most 
fascinating  child  that  ever  lived.  There 
be  some  who  claim  that  she  has  never 

[4] 


THE    BLIGHT    IN    THE    HILLS 

changed — and  I  am  among  them.  She 
began  early,  regardless  of  age,  sex  or 
previous  condition  of  servitude — she  con 
tinues  recklessly  as  she  began — and  none 
makes  complaint.  Thus  was  it  in  her  own 
world — thus  it  was  when  she  came  to 
mine.  On  the  way  down  from  the  North, 
the  conductor's  voice  changed  from  a 
command  to  a  request  when  he  asked 
for  her  ticket.  The  jacketed  lord  of  the 
dining-car  saw  her  from  afar  and  ad 
vanced  to  show  her  to  a  seat — that  she 
might  ride  forward,  sit  next  to  a  shaded 
window  and  be  free  from  the  glare  of  the 
sun  on  the  other  side.  Two  porters  made 
a  rush  for  her  bag  when  she  got  off  the 
car,  and  the  proprietor  of  the  little  hotel 
in  the  little  town  where  we  had  to  wait 
several  hours  for  the  train  into  the  moun 
tains  gave  her  the  bridal  chamber  for  an 

[5] 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

afternoon  nap.  From  this  little  town  to 
"  The  Gap  "  is  the  worst  sixty-mile  ride, 
perhaps,  in  the  world.  She  sat  in  a  dirty 
day-coach;  the  smoke  rolled  in  at  the  win 
dows  and  doors;  the  cars  shook  and 
swayed  and  lumbered  around  curves  and 
down  and  up  gorges;  there  were  about 
her  rough  men,  crying  children,  slatternly 
women,  tobacco  juice,  peanuts,  popcorn 
and  apple  cores,  but  dainty,  serene  and  as 
merry  as  ever,  she  sat  through  that  ride 
with  a  radiant  smile,  her  keen  black  eyes 
noting  everything  unlovely  within  and  the 
glory  of  hill,  tree  and  chasm  without. 
Next  morning  at  home,  where  we  rise 
early,  no  one  was  allowed  to  waken  her 
and  she  had  breakfast  in  bed — for  the 
Blight's  gentle  tyranny  was  established  on 
sight  and  varied  not  at  the  Gap. 

When  she  went  down  the  street  that 
[6] 


THE    BLIGHT    IN    THE    HILLS 

day  everybody  stared  surreptitiously  and 
with  perfect  respect,  as  her  dainty  black- 
plumed  figure  passed;  the  post-office  clerk 
could  barely  bring  himself  to  say  that  there- 
was  no  letter  for  her.  The  soda-faumaim 
boy  nearly  filled  her  glass  with  syrup  be 
fore  he  saw  that  he  was  not  strictly  mind 
ing  his  own  business;  the  clerk,  when  I 
bought  chocolate  for  her,  unblushingly 
added  extra  weight  and,  as  we  went  back,, 
she  met  them  both — Marston,  the  young; 
engineer  from  the  North,  crossing  the 
street  and,  at  the  same  moment,  a  drunken 
young  tough  with  an  infuriated  face  reel 
ing  in  a  run  around  the  corner  ahead  of 
us  as  though  he  were  being  pursued. 
Now  we  have  a  volunteer  police  guard 
some  forty  strong  at  the  Gap — and  from 
habit,  I  started  for  him,  but  the  Blight 
caught  my  arm  tight.  The  young  en- 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

gineer  in  three  strides  had  reached  the 
curb-stone  and  all  he  sternly  said  was: 

"Here!     Here!" 

The  drunken  youth  wheeled  and  his 
right  hand  shot  toward  his  hip  pocket. 
The  engineer  was  belted  with  a  pistol,  but 
with  one  lightning  movement  and  an  in 
credibly  long  reach,  his  right  fist  caught 
the  fellow's  jaw  so  that  he  pitched  back 
ward  and  collapsed  like  an  empty  bag» 
Then  the  engineer  caught  sight  of  the 
Blight's  bewildered  face,  flushed,  gripped 
his  hands  in  front  of  him  and  simply 
stared.  At  last  he  saw  me: 

"Oh,"  he  said,  "how  do  you  do?" 
and  he  turned  to  his  prisoner,  but  the 
panting  sergeant  and  another  policeman — 
also  a  volunteer — were  already  lifting  him 
to  his  feet.  I  introduced  the  boy  and  the 
Blight  then,  and  for  the  first  time  in  my 
[8] 


THE    BLIGHT    IN    THE    HILLS 

life  I  saw  the  Blight — shaken.  Round- 
eyed,  she  merely  gazed  at  him. 

"  That  was  pretty  well  done,"  I  said. 

"  Oh,  he  was  drunk  and  I  knew  he 
would  be  slow."  Now  something  curious 
happened.  The  dazed  prisoner  was  on 
his  feet,  and  his  captors  were  starting  with 
him  to  the  calaboose  when  he  seemed  sud 
denly  to  come  to  his  senses. 

"  Jes  wait  a  minute,  will  ye?"  he  said 
quietly,  and  his  captors,  thinking  perhaps 
that  he  wanted  to  say  something  to  me, 
stopped.  The  mountain  youth  turned  a 
strangely  sobered  face  and  fixed  his  blue 
eyes  on  the  engineer  as  though  he  were 
searing  every  feature  of  that  imperturba 
ble  young  man  in  his  brain  forever.  It 
was  not  a  bad  face,  but  the  avenging 
hatred  in  it  was  fearful.  Then  he,  too, 
saw  the  Blight,  his  face  calmed  magically 

[9] 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

and  he,  too,  stared  at  her,  and  turned  away 
with  an  oath  checked  at  his  lips.  We  went 
on — the  Blight  thrilled,  for  she  had  heard 
much  of  our  volunteer  force  at  the  Gap 
and  had  seen  something  already.  Pres 
ently  I  looked  back.  Prisoner  and  captors 
were  climbing  the  little  hill  toward  the 
calaboose  and  the  mountain  boy  just  then 
turned  his  head  and  I  could  swear  that  his 
eyes  sought  not  the  engineer,  whom  we 
left  at  the  corner,  but,  like  the  engineer, 
he  was  looking  at  the  Blight.  Whereat  I 
did  not  wonder — particularly  as  to  the  en 
gineer.  He  had  been  in  the  mountains  for 
a  long  time  and  I  knew  what  this  vision 
from  home  meant  to  him.  He  turned  up 
at  the  house  quite  early  that  night. 

"  I'm   not    on    duty   until    eleven,"    he 
said  hesitantly,  "  and  I  thought  I'd " 

"  Come  right  in." 

[10] 


THE    BLIGHT    IN    THE    HILLS 

I  asked  him  a  few  questions  about  busi 
ness  and  then  I  left  him  and  the  Blight 
alone.  When  I  came  back  she  had  a  Gat- 
ling  gun  of  eager  questions  ranged  on  him 
and — happy  withal — he  was  squirming  no 
little.  I  followed  him  to  the  gate. 

"  Are  you  really  going  over  into  those 
God-forsaken  mountains  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  thought  I  would." 

"  And  you  are  going  to  take  her!  " 

"  And  my  sister." 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon."  He  strode 
away. 

"  Coming  up  by  the  mines?  "  he  called 
back. 

"  Perhaps — will  you  show  us  around?  " 

"  I  guess  I  will,"  he  said  emphatically, 
and  he  went  on  to  risk  his  neck  on  a  ten- 
mile  ride  along  a  mountain  road  in  the 
dark. 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

"  I  like  a  man,"  said  the  Blight.  "  I 
like  a  man" 

Of  course  the  Blight  must  see  every 
thing,  so  she  insisted  on  going  to  the  po 
lice  court  next  morning  for  the  trial  of  the 
mountain  boy.  The  boy  was  in  the  wit 
ness  chair  when  we  got  there,  and  the 
Hon.  Samuel  Budd  was  his  counsel.  He 
had  volunteered  to  defend  the  prisoner,  I 
was  soon  told,  and  then  I  understood. 
The  November  election  was  not  far  off  and 
the  Hon.  Samuel  Budd  was  candidate  for 
legislature.  More  even,  the  boy's  father 
was  a  warm  supporter  of  Mr.  Budd  and 
the  boy  himself  might  perhaps  render  good 
service  in  the  cause  when  the  time  came — 
as  indeed  he  did.  On  one  of  the  front 
chairs  sat  the  young  engineer  and  it  was 
a  question  whether  he  or  the  prisoner  saw 
the  Blight's  black  plumes  first.  The  eyes 

[12] 


THE    BLIGHT    IN    THE    HILLS 

of  both  flashed  toward  her  simultane 
ously,  the  engineer  colored  perceptibly  and 
the  mountain  boy  stopped  short  in  speech 
and  his  pallid  face  flushed  with  unmistak 
able  shame.  Then  he  went  on :  "  He  had 
liquered  up,"  he  said,  "  and  had  got  tight 
afore  he  knowed  it  and  he  didn't  mean 
no  harm  and  had  never  been  arrested 
afore  in  his  whole  life." 

"  Have  you  ever  been  drunk  before?" 
asked  the  prosecuting  attorney  severely. 
The  lad  looked  surprised. 

"  Co'se  I  have,  but  I  ain't  goin'  to  agin 
— leastwise  not  in  this  here  town."  There 
was  a  general  laugh  at  this  and  the  aged 
mayor  rapped  loudly. 

"  That  will  do,"  said  the  attorney. 

The  lad  stepped  down,  hitched  his  chair 
slightly  so  that  his  back  was  to  the  Blight, 
sank  down  in  it  until  his  head  rested  on 

[13] 


A   KNIGHT   OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

the  back  of  the  chair  and  crossed  his  legs. 
The  Hon.  Samuel  Budd  arose  and  the 
Blight  looked  at  him  with  wonder.  His 
long  yellow  hair  was  parted  in  the  middle 
and  brushed  with  plaster-like  precision 
behind  two  enormous  ears,  he  wore  spec 
tacles,  gold-rimmed  and  with  great  staring 
lenses,  and  his  face  was  smooth  and  age 
less.  He  caressed  his  chin  ruminatingly 
and  rolled  his  lips  until  they  settled  into  a 
fine  resultant  of  wisdom,  patience,  tolera 
tion  and  firmness.  His  manner  was  pro 
found  and  his  voice  oily  and  soothing. 

"  May  it  please  your  Honor — my  young 
friend  frankly  pleads  guilty."  He  paused 
as  though  the  majesty  of  the  law  could  ask 
no  more.  "  He  is  a  young  man  of  natu 
rally  high  and  somewhat — naturally,  too, 
no  doubt — bibulous  spirits.  Homoeopathi- 
illy — if  inversely — the  result  was  logical. 

[14] 


THE    BLIGHT    IN    THE    HILLS 

In  the  untrammelled  life  of  the  liberty- 
breathing  mountains,  where  the  stern  spirit 
of  law  and  order,  of  which  your  Honor  is 
the  august  symbol,  does  not  prevail  as  it 
does  here — thanks  to  your  Honor's  wise 
and  just  dispensations — the  lad  has,  I 
may  say,  naturally  acquired  a  certain  reck 
lessness  of  mood — indulgence  which,  how 
ever  easily  condoned  there,  must  here  be 
sternly  rebuked.  At  the  same  time,  he 
knew  not  the  conditions  here,  he  became 
exhilarated  without  malice,  prepensey  or 
even,  I  may  say,  consciousness.  He  would 
not  have  done  as  he  has,  if  he  had  known 
what  he  knows  now,  and,  knowing,  he  will 
not  repeat  the  offence.  I  need  say  no 
more.  I  plead  simply  that  your  Honor 
will  temper  the  justice  that  is  only  yours 
with  the  mercy  that  is  yours — only." 
His  Honor  was  visibly  affected  and  to 

[15] 


A  KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

cover  it — his  methods  being  informal — he 
said  with  sharp  irrelevancy: 

"  Who  bailed  this  young  feller  out  last 
night?  "  The  sergeant  spoke: 

"  Why,  Mr.  Marston  thar  " — with  out 
stretched  finger  toward  the  young  en 
gineer.  The  Blight's  black  eyes  leaped 
with  exultant  appreciation  and  the  engineer 
turned  crimson.  His  Honor  rolled  his 
quid  around  in  his  mouth  once,  and  peered 
over  his  glasses: 

"  I  fine  this  young  feller  two  dollars  and 
costs."  The  young  fellow  had  turned 
slowly  in  his  chair  and  his  blue  eyes  blazed 
at  the  engineer  with  unappeasable  hatred. 
I  doubt  if  he  had  heard  his  Honor's 
voice. 

"  I  want  ye  to  know  that  I'm  obleeged 
to  ye  an'  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  fergit  it;  but 
if  I'd  a  known  hit  was  you  I'd  a  stayed 
[16] 


THE    BLIGHT    IN    THE    HILLS 

in  jail  an'  seen  you  in  hell  afore  I'd  a  been 
bounden  to  ye." 

"  Ten  dollars  fer  contempt  of  couht." 
The  boy  was  hot  now. 

"  Oh,  fine  and  be—"  The  Hon.  Samuel 
Budd  had  him  by  the  shoulder,  the  boy 
swallowed  his  voice  and  his  starting  tears 
of  rage,  and  after  a  whisper  to  his  Honor, 
the  Hon.  Samuel  led  him  out.  Outside, 
the  engineer  laughed  to  the  Blight : 

"Pretty  peppery,  isn't  he?"  but  the 
Blight  said  nothing,  and  later  we  saw  the 
youth  on  a  gray  horse  crossing  the  bridge 
and  conducted  by  the  Hon.  Samuel  Budd, 
who  stopped  and  waved  him  toward  the 
mountains.  The  boy  went  on  and  across 
the  plateau,  the  gray  Gap  swallowed  him. 

That  night,  at  the  post-office,  the  Hon. 
Sam  plucked  me  aside  by  the  sleeve. 

"  I  know  Marston  is  agin  me  in  this 


A   KNIGHT   OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

race — but  I'll  do  him  a  good  turn  just  the 
same.  You  tell  him  to  watch  out  for  that 
young  fellow.  He's  all  right  when  he's 
sober,  but  when  he's  drunk — well,  over  in 
Kentucky,  they  call  him  the  Wild  Dog." 

Several  days  later  we  started  out  through 
that  same  Gap.  The  glum  stableman 
looked  at  the  Blight's  girths  three  times, 
and  with  my  own  eyes  starting  and  my 
heart  in  my  mouth,  I  saw  her  pass  behind 
her  sixteen-hand-high  mule  and  give  him  a 
friendly  tap  on  the  rump  as  she  went  by. 
The  beast  gave  an  appreciative  flop  of  one 
ear  and  that  was  all.  Had  I  done  that, 
any  further  benefit  to  me  or  mine  would 
be  incorporated  in  the  terms  of  an  insur 
ance  policy.  So,  stating  this,  I  believe  I 
state  the  limit  and  can  now  go  on  to  say 
at  last  that  it  was  because  she  seemed  to 
.[  18]. 


THE    BLIGHT    IN    THE    HILLS 

be  loved  by  man  and  brute  alike  that  a 
big  man  of  her  own  town,  whose  body, 
big  as  it  was,  was  yet  too  small  for  his 
heart  and  from  whose  brain  things  went 
off  at  queer  angles,  always  christened  her 
perversely  as — "  The  Blight." 


[19] 


II 

ON  THE  WILD  DOG'S   TRAIL 

SO  up  we  went  past  Bee  Rock,  Preach 
er's  Creek  and  Little  Looney,  past 
the  mines  where  high  on  a  "  tipple  "  stood 
the  young  engineer  looking  down  at  us, 
and  looking  after  the  Blight  as  we  passed 
on  into  a  dim  rocky  avenue  walled  on  each 
side  with  rhododendrons.  I  waved  at  him 
and  shook  my  head — we  would  see  him 
coming  back.  Beyond  a  deserted  log- 
cabin  we  turned  up  a  spur  of  the  mountain. 
Around  a  clump  of  bushes  we  came  on 
a  gray-bearded  mountaineer  holding  his 
horse  by  the  bridle  and  from  a  covert  high 
above  two  more  men  appeared  with  Win- 

[20] 


ON    THE    WILD    DOG'S    TRAIL 

chesters.  The  Blight  breathed  forth  an 
awed  whisper: 

"Are  they  moonshiners?" 

I  nodded  sagely,  "  Most  likely,"  and 
the  Blight  was  thrilled.  They  might  have 
been  squirrel-hunters  most  innocent,  but 
the  Blight  had  heard  much  talk  of  moon 
shine  stills  and  mountain  feuds  and  the 
men  who  run  them  and  I  took  the  risk  of 
denying  her  nothing.  Up  and  up  we  went, 
those  two  mules  swaying  from  side  to  side 
with  a  motion  little  short  of  elephantine 
and,  by  and  by,  the  Blight  called  out: 

"  You  ride  ahead  and  don't  you  dare 
look  back." 

Accustomed  to  obeying  the  Blight's  or 
ders,  I  rode  ahead  with  eyes  to  the  front. 
Presently,  a  shriek  made  me  turn  suddenly. 
It  was  nothing — my  little  sister's  mule  had 
gone  near  a  steep  cliff — perilously  near,  as 

[21] 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

its  rider  thought,  but  I  saw  why  I  must  not 
look  back;  those  two  little  girls  were  riding 
astride  on  side-saddles,  the  booted  little 
right  foot  of  each  dangling  stirrupless — a 
posture  quite  decorous  but  ludicrous. 

"  Let  us  know  if  anybody  comes,"  they 
cried.  A  mountaineer  descended  into  sight 
around  a  loop  of  the  path  above. 

"  Change  cars,"  I  shouted. 

They  changed  and,  passing,  were  grave, 
demure — then  they  changed  again,  and 
thus  we  climbed. 

Such  a  glory  as  was  below,  around  and 
above  us;  the  air  like  champagne;  the  sun 
light  rich  and  pouring  like  a  flood  on  the 
gold  that  the  beeches  had  strewn  in  the 
path,  on  the  gold  that  the  poplars  still 
shook  high  above  and  shimmering  on  the 
royal  scarlet  of  the  maple  and  the  sombre 
russet  of  the  oak.  From  far  below  us  to  far 

[22] 


ON    THE    WILD    DOG'S    TRAIL 

above  us  a  deep  curving  ravine  was  slashed 
into  the  mountain  side  as  by  one  stroke  of 
a  gigantic  scimitar.  The  darkness  deep 
down  was  lighted  up  with  cool  green,  in 
terfused  with  liquid  gold.  Russet  and 
yellow  splashed  the  mountain  sides  beyond 
and  high  up  the  maples  were  in  a  shaking 
blaze.  The  Blight's  swift  eyes  took  all  in 
and  with  indrawn  breath  she  drank  it  all 
deep  down. 

An  hour  by  sun  we  were  near  the  top, 
which  was  bared  of  trees  and  turned  into 
rich  farm-land  covered  with  blue-grass. 
Along  these  upland  pastures,  dotted  with 
grazing  cattle,  and  across  them  we  rode 
toward  the  mountain  wildernesses  on  the 
other  side,  down  into  which  a  zigzag  path 
wriggles  along  the  steep  front  of  Benham's 
spur.  At  the  edge  of  the  steep  was  a 
cabin  and  a  bushy-bearded  mountaineer, 

[23] 


A  KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

who  looked  like  a  brigand,  answered  my 
hail.  He  "  mought "  keep  us  all  night, 
but  he'd  "  ruther  not,  as  we  could  git  a 
place  to  stay  down  the  spur."  Could  we 
get  down  before  dark?  The  mountaineer 
lifted  his  eyes  to  where  the  sun  was  break 
ing  the  horizon  of  the  west  into  streaks 
and  splashes  of  yellow  and  crimson. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  can  git  thar  afore 
dark." 

Now  I  knew  that  the  mountaineer's  idea 
of  distance  is  vague — but  he  knows  how 
long  it  takes  to  get  from  one  place  to  an 
other.  So  we  started  down — dropping  at 
once  into  thick  dark  woods,  and  as  we 
went  looping  down,  the  deeper  was  the 
gloom.  That  sun  had  suddenly  severed  all 
connection  with  the  laws  of  gravity  and 
sunk,  and  it  was  all  the  darker  because 
the  stars  were  not  out.  The  path  was 

[24] 


ON    THE    WILD    DOG'S    TRAIL 

steep  and  coiled  downward  like  a  wounded 
snake.  In  one  place  a  tree  had  fallen 
across  it,  and  to  reach  the  next  coil  of  the 
path  below  was  dangerous.  So  I  had  the 
girls  dismount  and  I  led  the  gray  horse 
down  on  his  haunches.  The  mules  refused 
to  follow,  which  was  rather  unusual.  I 
went  back  and  from  a  safe  distance  in  the 
rear  I  belabored  them  down.  They  cared 
neither  for  gray  horse  nor  crooked  path, 
but  turned  of  their  own  devilish  wills 
along  the  bushy  mountain  side.  As  I  ran 
after  them  the  gray  horse  started  calmly 
on  down  and  those  two  girls  shrieked  with 
laughter — they  knew  no  better.  First  one 
way  and  then  the  other  down  the  mountain 
went  those  mules,  with  me  after  them, 
through  thick  bushes,  over  logs,  stumps 
and  bowlders  and  holes — crossing  the  path 
a  dozen  times.  What  that  path  was  there 

[25] 


A   KNIGHT   OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

for  never  occurred  to  those  long-eared 
half  asses,  whole  fools,  and  by  and  by, 
when  the  girls  tried  to  shoo  them  down 
they  clambered  around  and  above  them 
and  struck  the  path  back  up  the  mountain. 
The  horse  had  gone  down  one  way,  the 
mules  up  the  other,  and  there  was  no 
health  in  anything.  The  girls  could  not 
go  u$> — so  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  go 
down,  which,  hard  as  it  was,  was  easier 
than  going  up.  The  path  was  not  visible 
now.  Once  in  a  while  I  would  stumble 
from  it  and  crash  through  the  bushes  to 
the  next  coil  below.  Finally  I  went  down, 
sliding  one  foot  ahead  all  the  time — know 
ing  that  when  leaves  rustled  under  that 
foot  I  was  on  the  point  of  going  astray. 
Sometimes  I  had  to  light  a  match  to 
make  sure  of  the  way,  and  thus  the  ridicu 
lous  descent  was  made  with  those  girls  in 


ON    THE    WILD    DOG'S    TRAIL 

high  spirits  behind.  Indeed,  the  darker, 
rockier,  steeper  it  got,  the  more  they 
shrieked  from  pure  joy — but  I  was  any 
thing  than  happy.  It  was  dangerous.  I 
didn't  know  the  cliffs  and  high  rocks 
we  might  skirt  and  an  unlucky  guidance 
might  land  us  in  the  creek-bed  far  down. 
But  the  blessed  stars  came  out,  the  moon 
peered  over  a  farther  mountain  and  on 
the  last  spur  there  was  the  gray  horse 
browsing  in  the  path — and  the  sound  of 
running  water  not  far  below.  Fortunately 
on  the  gray  horse  were  the  saddle-bags  of 
the  chattering  infants  who  thought  the 
whole  thing  a  mighty  lark.  We  reached 
the  running  water,  struck  a  flock  of  geese 
and  knew,  in  consequence,  that  humanity 
was  somewhere  near.  A  few  turns  of  the 
creek  and  a  beacon  light  shone  below. 
The  pales  of  a  picket  fence,  the  cheering 

[27] 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

outlines  of  a  log-cabin  came  in  view  and 
at  a  peaked  gate  I  shouted: 

"  Hello  1  " 

You  enter  no  mountaineer's  yard  with 
out  that  announcing  cry.  It  was  mediaeval, 
the  Blight  said,  positively — two  lorn  dam 
sels,  a  benighted  knight  partially  stripped 
of  his  armor  by  bush  and  sharp-edged 
rock,  a  gray  palfrey  (she  didn't  mention 
the  impatient  asses  that  had  turned  home 
ward)  and  she  wished  I  had  a  horn  to 
wind.  I  wanted  a  "  horn  "  badly  enough 
— but  it  was  not  the  kind  men  wind.  By 
and  by  we  got  a  response : 

"  Hello  I  "  was  the  answer,  as  an  opened 
door  let  out  into  the  yard  a  broad  band  of 
light.  Could  we  stay  all  night?  The 
voice  replied  that  the  owner  would  see 
"  Pap."  "  Pap  "  seemed  willing,  and  the 
boy  opened  the  gate  and  into  the  house 

[28] 


ON    THE    WELD    DOG'S    TRAIL 

went    the    Blight    and    the    little    sister. 
Shortly,  I  followed. 

There,  all  in  one  room,  lighted  by  a 
huge  wood-fire,  rafters  above,  puncheon 
floor  beneath — cane-bottomed  chairs  and 
two  beds  the  only  furniture — "  pap," 
barefooted,  the  old  mother  in  the  chimney- 
corner  with  a  pipe,  strings  of  red  pepper- 
pods,  beans  and  herbs  hanging  around  and 
above,  a  married  daughter  with  a  child  at 
her  breast,  two  or  three  children  with  yel 
low  hair  and  bare  feet — all  looking  with 
all  their  eyes  at  the  two  visitors  who  had 
dropped  upon  them  from  another  world. 
The  Blight's  eyes  were  brighter  than 
usual — that  was  the  only  sign  she  gave 
that  she  was  not  in  her  own  drawing- 
room.  Apparently  she  saw  nothing 
strange  or  unusual  even,  but  there  was 
really  nothing  that  she  did  not  see  or  hear 

[29] 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

and  absorb,  as  few  others  than  the  Blight 
can. 

Straightway,  the  old  woman  knocked 
the  ashes  out  of  her  pipe. 

"  I  reckon  you  hain't  had  nothin'  to 
eat,"  she  said  and  disappeared.  The  old 
man  asked  questions,  the  young  mother 
rocked  her  baby  on  her  knees,  the  children 
got  less  shy  and  drew  near  the  fireplace, 
the  Blight  and  the  little  sister  exchanged 
a  furtive  smile  and  the  contrast  of  the  ex 
tremes  in  American  civilization,  as  shown 
in  that  little  cabin,  interested  me  mightily. 

"  Yer  snack's  ready,"  said  the  old 
woman.  The  old  man  carried  the  chairs 
into  the  kitchen,  and  when  I  followed  the 
girls  were  seated.  The  chairs  were  so  low 
that  their  chins  came  barely  over  their 
plates,  and  demure  and  serious  as  they  were 
they  surely  looked  most  comical.  There 

[30] 


ON    THE    WILD    DOG'S    TRAIL 

was  the  usual  bacon  and  corn-bread  and 
potatoes  and  sour  milk,  and  the  two  girls 
struggled  with  the  rude  fare  nobly. 

After  supper  I  joined  the  old  man  and 
the  old  woman  with  a  pipe — exchanging 
my  tobacco  for  their  long  green  with  more 
satisfaction  probably  to  me  than  to  them, 
for  the  long  green  was  good,  and  strong 
and  fragrant. 

The  old  woman  asked  the  Blight  and 
the  little  sister  many  questions  and  they,  in 
turn,  showed  great  interest  in  the  baby  in 
arms,  whereat  the  eighteen-year-old  mother 
blushed  and  looked  greatly  pleased. 

"  You  got  mighty  purty  black  eyes," 
said  the  old  woman  to  the  Blight,  and  not 
to  slight  the  little  sister  she  added,  "  An' 
you  got  mighty  purty  teeth." 

The  Blight  showed  hers  in  a  radiant 
smile  and  the  old  woman  turned  back  to  her. 

[31] 


A  KNIGHT   OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

"  Oh,  youVe  got  both,"  she  said  and 
she  shook  her  head,  as  though  she  were 
thinking  of  the  damage  they  had  done. 
It  was  my  time  now — to  ask  questions. 

They  didn't  have  many  amusements  on 
that  creek,  I  discovered — and  no  dances. 
Sometimes  the  boys  went  coon-hunting  and 
there  were  corn-shuckings,  house-raisings 
and  quilting-parties. 

"  Does  anybody  round  here  play  the 
banjo?" 

"  None  o'  my  boys,"  said  the  old  wom 
an,  "  but  Tom  Green's  son  down  the  creek 
— he  rollers  pickin'  the  banjo  a  leetlc." 
"  Follows  pickin'  " — the  Blight  did  not 
miss  that  phrase. 

"  What  do  you  foller  fer  a  livin'?  "  the 
old  man  asked  me  suddenly. 

"  I  write  for  a  living."  He  thought  a 
while. 

[32] 


ON    THE    WILD    DOG'S    TRAIL 

"  Well,  it  must  be  purty  fine  to  have  a 
good  handwrite."  This  nearly  dissolved 
the  Blight  and  the  little  sister,  but  they 
held  on  heroically. 

"  Is  there  much  fighting  around  here?  " 
I  asked  presently. 

"  Not  much  'cept  when  one  young  feller 
up  the  river  gets  to  tearin'  up  things.  I 
heerd  as  how  he  was  over  to  the  Gap  last 
week — raisin'  hell.  He  comes  by  here  on 
his  way  home."  The  Blight's  eyes  opened 
wide — apparently  we  were  on  his  trail. 
It  is  not  wise  for  a  member  of  the  police 
guard  at  the  Gap  to  show  too  much 
curiosity  about  the  lawless  ones  of  the 
hills,  and  I  asked  no  questions. 

"  They  calls  him  the  Wild  Dog  over 
here,"  he  added,  and  then  he  yawned  cav- 
ernously. 

I  looked  around  with  divining  eye  for 

[33] 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

the  sleeping  arrangements  soon  to  come, 
which  sometimes  are  embarrassing  to 
"  furriners  "  who  are  unable  to  grasp  at 
once  the  primitive  unconsciousness  of  the 
mountaineers  and,  in  consequence,  accept  a 
point  of  view  natural  to  them  because  en 
forced  by  architectural  limitations  and  a 
hospitality  that  turns  no  one  seeking  shel 
ter  from  any  door.  They  were,  however, 
better  prepared  than  I  had  hoped  for. 
They  had  a  spare  room  on  the  porch  and 
just  outside  the  door,  and  when  the  old 
woman  led  the  two  girls  to  it,  I  followed 
with  their  saddle-bags.  The  room  was 
about  seven  feet  by  six  and  was  win- 
dowless. 

"  You'd  better  leave  your  door  open  a 
little,"  I  said,  "  or  you'll  smother  in 
there." 

"  Well,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  hit's  all 
[34] 


ON    THE    WILD    DOG'S    TRAIL 

right  to  leave  the  door  open.  Nothings 
goin'  ter  bother  ye,  but  one  o'  my  sons  is 
out  a  coon-huntin'  and  he  mought  come  in, 
not  knowin'  you're  thar.  But  you  jes' 
holler  an'  he'll  move  on."  She  meant 
precisely  what  she  said  and  saw  no  humor 
at  all  in  such  a  possibility — but  when  the 
door  closed,  I  could  hear  those  girls 
stifling  shrieks  of  laughter. 

Literally,  that  night,  I  was  a  member 
of  the  family.  I  had  a  bed  to  myself 
(the  following  night  I  was  not  so  fortu 
nate) — in  one  corner;  behind  the  head  of 
mine  the  old  woman,  the  daughter-in-law 
and  the  baby  had  another  in  the  other 
corner,  and  the  old  man  with  the  two  boys 
spread  a  pallet  on  the  floor.  That  is  the 
invariable  rule  of  courtesy  with  the  moun 
taineer,  to  give  his  bed  to  the  stranger  and 
take  to  the  floor  himself,  and,  in  passing, 

[35] 


A   KNIGHT   OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

let  me  say  that  never,  in  a  long  experience, 
have  I  seen  the  slightest  consciousness — 
much  less  immodesty — in  a  mountain  cabin 
in  my  life.  The  same  attitude  on  the  part 
of  the  visitors  is  taken  for  granted — any 
other  indeed  holds  mortal  possibilities  of 
offence — so  that  if  the  visitor  has  common 
sense,  all  embarrassment  passes  at  once. 
The  door  was  closed,  the  fire  blazed  on 
uncovered,  the  smothered  talk  and  laugh 
ter  of  the  two  girls  ceased,  the  coon-hunter 
came  not  and  the  night  passed  in  peace. 

It  must  have  been  near  daybreak  that  I 
was  aroused  by  the  old  man  leaving  the 
cabin  and  I  heard  voices  and  the  sound  of 
horses'  feet  outside.  When  he  came  back 
he  was  grinning. 

"  Hit's  your  mules." 

"Who  found  them?" 

"  The  Wild  Dog  had  'em,"  he  said. 
[36] 


Ill 

THE   AURICULAR   TALENT  OF  THE 
HON.    SAMUEL   BUDD 

BEHIND  us  came  the  Hon.  Samuel 
Budd.  Just  when  the  sun  was  slit 
ting  the  east  with  a  long  streak  of  fire,  the 
Hon.  Samuel  was,  with  the  jocund  day, 
standing  tiptoe  in  his  stirrups  on  the  misty 
mountain  top  and  peering  into  the  ravine 
down  which  we  had  slid  the  night  before, 
and  he  grumbled  no  little  when  he  saw 
that  he,  too,  must  get  off  his  horse  and 
slide  down.  The  Hon.  Samuel  was  am 
bitious,  Southern,  and  a  lawyer.  Without 
saying,  it  goes  that  he  was  also  a  poli 
tician.  He  was  not  a  native  of  the  moun- 

[37] 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

tains,  but  he  had  cast  his  fortunes  in  the 
highlands,  and  he  was  taking  the  first  step 
that  he  hoped  would,  before  many  years, 
land  him  in  the  National  Capitol.  He 
really  knew  little  about  the  mountaineers, 
even  now,  and  he  had  never  been  among 
his  constituents  on  Devil's  Fork,  where  he 
was  bound  now.  The  campaign  had  so  far 
been  full  of  humor  and  full  of  trials — not 
the  least  of  which  sprang  from  the  fact 
that  it  was  sorghum  time.  Everybody 
through  the  mountains  was  making  sor 
ghum,  and  every  mountain  child  was  eat 
ing  molasses. 

Now,  as  the  world  knows,  the  straight- 
est  way  to  the  heart  of  the  honest  voter  is 
through  the  women  of  the  land,  and  the 
straightest  way  to  the  heart  of  the  women 
is  through  the  children  of  the  land;  and 
one  method  of  winning  both,  with  rural 

[38] 


THE    AURICULAR    TALENT 

politicians,  is  to  kiss  the  babies  wide  and 
far.  So  as  each  infant,  at  sorghum  time, 
has  a  circle  of  green-brown  stickiness  about 
his  chubby  lips,  and  as  the  Hon.  Sam  was 
averse  to  "  long  sweetenin*  "  even  in  his 
coffee,  this  particular  political  device  just 
now  was  no  small  trial  to  the  Hon.  Samuel 
Budd.  But  in  the  language  of  one  of  his 
firmest  supporters — Uncle  Tommie  Hen- 
dricks : 

"  The  Hon.  Sam  done  his  duty,  and  he 
done  it  damn  well." 

The  issue  at  stake  was  the  site  of  the 
new  Court-House — two  localities  claiming 
the  right  undisputed,  because  they  were 
the  only  two  places  in  the  county  where 
there  was  enough  level  land  for  the  Court- 
House  to  stand  on.  Let  no  man  think  this 
a  trivial  issue.  There  had  been  a  similar 
one  over  on  the  Virginia  side  once,  and 

[39] 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

the  opposing  factions  agreed  to  decide  the 
question  by  the  ancient  wager  of  battle, 
fist  and  skull — two  hundred  men  on  each 
side — and  the  women  of  the  county  with 
difficulty  prevented  the  fight.  Just  now, 
Mr.  Budd  was  on  his  way  to  "  The 
Pocket " — the  voting  place  of  one  faction 
— where  he  had  never  been,  where  the 
hostility  against  him  was  most  bitter,  and, 
that  day,  he  knew  he  was  "  up  against  " 
Waterloo,  the  crossing  of  the  Rubicon, 
holding  the  pass  at  Thermopylae,  or  any 
other  historical  crisis  in  the  history  of 
man.  I  was  saddling  the  mules  when  the 
cackling  of  geese  in  the  creek  announced 
the  coming  of  the  Hon.  Samuel  Budd, 
coming  with  his  chin  on  his  breast — deep 
in  thought.  Still  his  eyes  beamed  cheerily, 
he  lifted  his  slouched  hat  gallantly  to  the 
Blight  and  the  little  sister,  and  he  would 

[40] 


THE    AURICULAR    TALENT 

— 

wait  for  us  to  jog  along  with  him.     I  told 

him    of    our   troubles,    meanwhile.      The 

Wild  Dog  had  restored  our  mules — and 

the  Hon.  Sam  beamed: 

"  He's  a  wonder — where  is  he?  " 

"  He  never  waited — even  for  thanks." 

Again  the  Hon.  Sam  beamed: 

"  Ah!  just  like  him.     He's  gone  ahead 

to  help  me." 

"  Well,  how  did  he  happen  to  be  here  ?  " 

I  asked. 

"  He's  everywhere,"  said  the  Hon.  Sam. 
"  How   did  he  know   the   mules  were 

ours?" 

"  Easy.     That  boy  knows  everything." 
"  Well,  why   did  he  bring  them  back 

and  then  leave  so  mysteriously?" 

The  Hon.  Sam  silently  pointed  a  finger 

at  the  laughing  Blight  ahead,  and  I  looked 

incredulous. 

[41] 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

"  Just  the  same,  that's  another  reason  I 
told  you  to  warn  Marston.  He's  already 
got  it  in  his  head  that  Marston  is  his 
rival." 

"  Pshaw !  "  I  said — for  it  was  too 
ridiculous. 

"  All  right,"  said  the  Hon.  Sam  placidly. 

"  Then  why  doesn't  he  want  to  see 
her?" 

"  How  do  you  know  he  ain't  watchin' 
her  now,  for  all  we  know?  Mark  me," 
he  added,  "  you  won't  see  him  at  the 
speakin',  but  I'll  bet  fruit  cake  agin  gin 
gerbread  he'll  be  somewhere  around." 

So  we  went  on,  the  two  girls  leading 
the  way  and  the  Hon.  Sam  now  telling 
his  political  troubles  to  me.  Half  a 
mile  down  the  road,  a  solitary  horseman 
stood  waiting,  and  Mr.  Budd  gave  a  low 
whistle. 

[42] 


THE    AURICULAR    TALENT 

"  One  o'  my  rivals,"  he  said,  from  the 
corner  of  his  mouth. 

"  Mornin\"  said  the  horseman;  "  lem- 
me  see  you  a  minute." 

He  made  a  movement  to  draw  aside, 
but  the  Hon.  Samuel  made  a  counter- 
gesture  of  dissent. 

"  This  gentleman  is  a  friend  of  mine," 
he  said  firmly,  but  with  great  courtesy, 
"  and  he  can  hear  what  you  have  to  say 
to  me." 

The  mountaineer  rubbed  one  huge  hand 
over  his  stubbly  chin,  threw  one  of  his 
long  legs  over  the  pommel  of  his  saddle, 
and  dangled  a  heavy  cowhide  shoe  to  and 
fro. 

"  Would  you  mind  tellin'  me  whut  pay 
a  member  of  the  House  of  Legislatur*  gits 
a  day?" 

The  Hon.  Sam  looked  surprised. 

[43] 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

"  I  think  about  two  dollars  and  a  half." 

"An'  his  meals?" 

"No!"  laughed  Mr.  Budd. 

"  Well,  look-ee  here,  stranger.  I'm  a 
pore  man  an'  I've  got  a  mortgage  on  my 
farm.  That  money  don't  mean  nothin'  to 
you — but  if  you'll  draw  out  now  an'  I 
win,  I'll  tell  ye  whut  I'll  do."  He  paused 
as  though  to  make  sure  that  the  sacrifice 
was  possible.  "  I'll  just  give  ye  half  of 
that  two  dollars  and  a  half  a  day,  as  shore 
as  you're  a-settin'  on  that  hoss,  and  you 
won't  hav'  to  hit  a  durn  lick  to  earn  it." 

I  had  not  the  heart  to  smile — nor  did 
the  Hon.  Samuel — so  artless  and  simple 
was  the  man  and  so  pathetic  his  appeal. 

"  You  see — you'll  divide  my  vote,  an' 
ef  we  both  run,  ole  Josh  Barton'll  git  it 
shore.  Ef  you  git  out  o'  the  way,  I  can 
lick  him  easy." 

[44] 


THE    AURICULAR    TALENT 

Mr.  Budd's  answer  was  kind,  instruc 
tive,  and  uplifted. 

"  My  friend,"  said  he,  "  I'm  sorry,  but 
I  cannot  possibly  accede  to  your  request 
for  the  following  reasons:  First,  it  would 
not  be  fair  to  my  constituents;  secondly,  it 
would  hardly  be  seeming  to  barter  the 
noble  gift  of  the  people  to  which  we  both 
aspire;  thirdly,  you  might  lose  with  me 
out  of  the  way;  and  fourthly,  I'm  going 
to  win  whether  you  are  in  the  way  or 
not." 

The  horseman  slowly  collapsed  while 
the  Hon.  Samuel  was  talking,  and  now  he 
threw  the  leg  back,  kicked  for  his  stirrup 
twice,  spat  once,  and  turned  his  horse's 
head. 

"  I  reckon  you  will,  stranger,"  he  said 
sadly,  "  with  that  gift  o'  gab  o'  yourn." 
He  turned  without  another  word  or  nod  of 

[45] 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

good-by  and  started  back  up  the  creek 
whence  he  had  come. 

"  One  gone,"  said  the  Hon.  Samuel 
Budd  grimly,  "  and  I  swear  I'm  right 
sorry  for  him."  And  so  was  I. 

An  hour  later  we  struck  the  river,  and 
another  hour  upstream  brought  us  to  where 
the  contest  of  tongues  was  to  come  about. 
No  sylvan  dell  in  Arcady  could  have 
been  lovelier  than  the  spot.  Above  the 
road,  a  big  spring  poured  a  clear  little 
stream  over  shining  pebbles  into  the  river; 
above  it  the  bushes  hung  thick  with  au 
tumn  leaves,  and  above  them  stood  yellow 
beeches  like  pillars  of  pale  fire.  On  both 
sides  of  the  road  sat  and  squatted  the 
honest  voters,  sour-looking,  disgruntled — a 
distinctly  hostile  crowd.  The  Blight  and 
my  little  sister  drew  great  and  curious  at 
tention  as  they  sat  on  a  bowlder  above  the 

[46] 


THE    AURICULAR    TALENT 

spring  while  I  went  with  the  Hon.  Samuel 
Bucld  under  the  guidance  of  Uncle  Tom- 
mie  Hendricks,  who  introduced  him  right 
and  left.  The  Hon.  Samuel  was  cheery, 
but  he  was  plainly  nervous.  There  were 
two  lanky  youths  whose  names,  oddly 
enough,  were  Budd.  As  they  gave  him 
their  huge  paws  in  lifeless  fashion,  the 
Hon.  Samuel  slapped  one  on  the  shoulder, 
with  the  true  democracy  of  the  politician, 
and  said  jocosely: 

"  Well,  we  Budds  may  not  be  what  you 
call  great  people,  but,  thank  God,  none 
of  us  have  ever  been  in  the  penitentiary," 
and  he  laughed  loudly,  thinking  that  he 
had  scored  a  great  and  jolly  point.  The 
two  young  men  looked  exceedingly  grave 
and  Uncle  Tommie  panic-stricken.  He 
plucked  the  Hon.  Sam  by  the  sleeve  and 
led  him  aside: 

[47] 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

"  I  reckon  you  made  a  leetle  mistake 
thar.  Them  two  fellers'  daddy  died  in  the 
penitentiary  last  spring."  The  Hon.  Sam 
whistled  mournfully,  but  he  looked  game 
enough  when  his  opponent  rose  to  speak 
— Uncle  Josh  Barton,  who  had  short, 
thick,  upright  hair,  little  sharp  eyes,  and  a 
rasping  voice.  Uncle  Josh  wasted  no  time : 

"  Feller-citizens,"  he  shouted,  "  this 
man  is  a  lawyer — he's  a  corporation 
lawyer";  the  fearful  name — pronounced 
"  lie-yer  " — rang  through  the  crowd  like  a 
trumpet,  and  like  lightning  the  Hon.  Sam 
was  on  his  feet 

"  The  man  who  says  that  is  a  liar,"  he 
said  calmly,  "  and  I  demand  your  author 
ity  for  the  statement.  If  you  won't  give 
it — I  shall  hold  you  personally  responsible, 


sir." 


It  was  a  strike  home,  and  under  the 

[48] 


THE    AURICULAR    TALENT 

flashing  eyes  that  stared  unwaveringly 
through  the  big  goggles,  Uncle  Josh  halted 
and  stammered  and  admitted  that  he 
might  have  been  misinformed. 

"  Then  I  advise  you  to  be  more  care 
ful,"  cautioned  the  Hon.  Samuel  sharply. 

"  Feller-citizens,"  said  Uncle  Josh,  "  if 
he  ain't  a  corporation  lawyer — who  is  this 
man  ?  Where  did  he  come  from  ?  I  have 
been  born  and  raised  among  you.  You  all 
know  me — do  you  know  him?  Whut's  he 
a-doin'  now?  He's  a  fine-haired  furriner, 
an'  he's  come  down  hyeh  from  the  settle- 
mints  to  tell  ye  that  you  hain't  got  no  man 
in  yo'  own  deestrict  that's  fittin'  to  repre 
sent  ye  in  the  legislatur'.  Look  at  him — 
look  at  him !  He's  got  four  eyes !  Look 
at  his  hair — hit's  parted  in  the  middle  I  " 
There  was  a  storm  of  laughter — Uncle 
Josh  had  made  good — and  if  the  Hon. 

[49] 


A   KNIGHT   OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

Samuel  could  straightway  have  turned 
bald-headed  and  sightless,  he  would  have 
been  a  happy  man.  He  looked  sick  with 
hopelessness,  but  Uncle  Tommie  Hen- 
dricks,  his  mentor,  was  vigorously  whis 
pering  something  in  his  ear,  and  gradually 
his  face  cleared.  Indeed,  the  Hon.  Samuel 
was  smilingly  confident  when  he  rose. 

Like  his  rival,  he  stood  in  the  open  road, 
and  the  sun  beat  down  on  his  parted  yel 
low  hair,  so  that  the  eyes  of  all  could 
see,  and  the  laughter  was  still  running 
round. 

"Who  is  your  Uncle  Josh?"  he  asked 
with  threatening  mildness.  "  I  know  I  was 
not  born  here,  but,  my  friends,  I  couldn't 
help  that.  And  just  as  soon  as  I  could 
get  away  from  where  I  was  born,  I  came 
here  and,"  he  paused  with  lips  parted  and 
long  finger  outstretched,  "  and — I — came 

[50] 


THE    AURICULAR    TALENT 

— because — I  wanted — to  come — and  not 
because  /  had  to" 

Now  it  seems  that  Uncle  Josh,  too,  was 
not  a  native  and  that  he  had  left  home 
early  in  life  for  his  State's  good  and  for  his 
own.  Uncle  Tommie  had  whispered  this, 
and  the  Hon.  Samuel  raised  himself  high 
on  both  toes  while  the  expectant  crowd,  on 
the  verge  of  a  roar,  waited — as  did  Uncle 
Joshua,  with  a  sickly  smile. 

"  Why  did  your  Uncle  Josh  come 
among  you?  Because  he  was  hoop-poled 
away  from  home."  Then  came  the  roar — 
and  the  Hon.  Samuel  had  to  quell  it  with 
uplifted  hand. 

"  And  did  your  Uncle  Joshua  marry  a 
mountain  wife  ?  No !  He  didn't  think 
any  of  your  mountain  women  were  good 
enough  for  him,  so  he  slips  down  into  the 
settlemints  and  steals  one.  And  now,  fel- 

[51] 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

low-citizens,  that  is  just  what  I'm  here  for 
— I'm  looking  for  a  nice  mountain  girl, 
and  I'm  going  to  have  her."  Again  the 
Hon.  Samuel  had  to  still  the  roar,  and  then 
he  went  on  quietly  to  show  how  they  must 
lose  the  Court-House  site  if  they  did  not 
send  him  to  the  legislature,  and  how,  while 
they  might  not  get  it  if  they  did  send  him, 
it  was  their  only  hope  to  send  only  him. 
The  crowd  had  grown  somewhat  hostile 
again,  and  it  was  after  one  telling  period, 
when  the  Hon.  Samuel  stopped  to  mop  his 
brow,  that  a  gigantic  mountaineer  rose  in 
the  rear  of  the  crowd: 

"Talk  on,  stranger;  you're  talking 
sense.  I'll  trust  ye.  You've  got  big 
ears!" 

Now  the  Hon.  Samuel  possessed  a  pri 
mordial  talent  that  is  rather  rare  in  these 
physically  degenerate  days.  He  said  noth- 

[52] 


THE    AURICULAR    TALENT 

ing,  but  stood  quietly  in  the  middle  of  the 
road.  The  eyes  of  the  crowd  on  either 
side  of  the  road  began  to  bulge,  the  lips 
of  all  opened  with  wonder,  and  a  simul 
taneous  burst  of  laughter  rose  around  the 
Hon.  Samuel  Budd.  A  dozen  men  sprang 
to  their  feet  and  rushed  up  to  him — look 
ing  at  those  remarkable  ears,  as  they 
gravely  wagged  to  and  fro.  That  settled 
things,  and  as  we  left,  the  Hon.  Sam  was 
having  things  his  own  way,  and  on  the 
edge  of  the  crowd  Uncle  Tommie  Hen- 
dricks  was  shaking  his  head: 

"  I  tell  ye,  boys,  he  ain't  no  jackass — 
even  if  he  can  flop  his  ears." 

At  the  river  we  started  upstream,  and 
some  impulse  made  me  turn  in  my  saddle 
and  look  back.  All  the  time  I  had  had  an 
eye  open  for  the  young  mountaineer  whose 
interest  in  us  seemed  to  be  so  keen.  And 

[53] 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

now  I  saw,  standing  at  the  head  of  a  gray 
horse,  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd,  a  tall 
figure  with  his  hands  on  his  hips  and  look 
ing  after  us.  I  couldn't  be  sure,  but  it 
looked  like  the  Wild  Dog. 


[54] 


IV 

CLOSE   QUARTERS 

^T^WO  hours  up  the  river  we  struck 
•*•  Buck.  Buck  was  sitting  on  the 
fence  by  the  roadside,  barefooted  and  hat- 
less. 

"How-dye-do?"  I  said. 

"  Purty  well,"  said  Buck. 

"Any  fish  in  this  river?  " 

"  Several,"  said  Buck.  Now  in  moun 
tain  speech,  "  several  "  means  simply  "  a 
good  many." 

"Any  minnows  in  these  branches?  " 

"  I  seed  several  in  the  branch  back  o7 
our  house." 

[55] 


A  KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

"  How  far  away  do  you  live?  " 

"  Oh,  'bout  one  whoop  an'  a  holler."  If 
he  had  spoken  Greek  the  Blight  could  not 
have  been  more  puzzled.  He  meant  he 
lived  as  far  as  a  man's  voice  would  carry 
with  one  yell  and  a  holla. 

"Will  you  help  me  catch  some?" 
Buck  nodded. 

"  All  right,"  I  said,  turning  my  horse  up 
to   the   fence.     "Get  on  behind."     The 
'horse  shied  his  hind  quarters  away,  and  I 
pulled  him  back. 

"  Now,   you   can   get  on,   if  you'll  be 
quick."    Buck  sat  still. 
1     uYes,"  he  said  imperturbably;  "but  I 
ain't    quick."      The    two    girls    laughed 
aloud,  and  Buck  looked  surprised. 

Around  a  curving  cornfield  we  went, 
and  through  a  meadow  which  Buck  said 
was  a  "  nigh  cut."  From  the  limb  of  a 

[56] 


CLOSE    QUARTERS 


tree  that  we  passed  hung  a  piece  of  wire 
with  an  iron  ring  swinging  at  its  upturned 
end.  A  little  farther  was  another  tree  and 
another  ring,  and  farther  on  another  and 
another. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Buck,  what  are 
these  things  ?" 

"  Mart's  a-gittin'  ready  fer  a  tourney- 
ment." 

"A  what?" 

"  That's  whut  Mart  calls  hit.  He  was 
over  to  the  Gap  last  Fourth  o'  July,  an'  he 
says  fellers  over  thar  fix  up  like  Kuklux  and 
go  a-chargin'  on  hosses  and  takin'  off  them 
rings  with  a  ash-stick — ( spear,'  Mart 
calls  hit.  He  come  back  an'  he  says  he's 
a-goin'  to  win  that  ar  tourneyment  next 
Fourth  o'  July.  He's  got  the  best  hoss  up 
this  river,  and  on  Sundays  him  an'  Dave 
Branham  goes  a-chargin'  along  here  a-pick- 

[57] 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

ing  off  these  rings  jus'  a-flyin';  an'  Mart 
can  do  hit,  I'm  tellin'  ye.  Dave's  mighty 
good  hisself,  but  he  ain't  nowhar  'longside 
o'  Mart." 

This  was  strange.  I  had  told  the  Blight 
about  our  Fourth  of  July,  and  how  on  the 
Virginia  side  the  ancient  custom  of  the 
tournament  still  survived.  It  was  on  the 
last  Fourth  of  July  that  she  had  meant  to 
come  to  the  Gap.  Truly  civilization  was 
spreading  throughout  the  hills. 

"Who's  Mart?" 

"  Mart's  my  brother,"  said  little  Buck. 
"  He  was  over  to  the  Gap  not  long  ago, 
an'  he  come  back  mad  as  hops — "  He 
stopped  suddenly,  and  in  such  a  way  that 
I  turned  my  head,  knowing  that  caution 
had  caught  Buck. 

"What  about?" 

"Oh,  nothin',"  said  Buck  carelessly; 
[58] 


"  Mart's  a-gittin  ready  fer  a  tourneyment.' 


CLOSE    QUARTERS 


"  only  he's  been  quar  ever  since.  My  sis 
ters  says  he's  got  a  gal  over  thar,  an' 
he's  a-pickin'  off  these  rings  more'n  ever 
now.  He's  going  to  win  or  bust  a  belly- 
band." 

"  Well,  who's  Dave  Branham?  " 

Buck  grinned.  "  You  jes  axe  my  sister 
Mollie.  Thar  she  is." 

Before  us  was  a  white-framed  house  of 
logs  in  the  porch  of  which  stood  two  stal 
wart,  good-looking  girls.  Could  we  stay 
all  night?  We  could — there  was  no  hesi 
tation — and  straight  in  we  rode. 

"Where's  your  father?"  Both  girls 
giggled,  and  one  said,  with  frank  unembar- 
rassment : 

"Pap's  tight!"  That  did  not  look 
promising,  but  we  had  to  stay  just  the 
same.  Buck  helped  me  to  unhitch  the 
mules,  helped  me  also  to  catch  minnows, 

[59] 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

and  in  half  an  hour  we  started  down  the 
river  to  try  fishing  before  dark  came. 
Buck  trotted  along. 

"  Have  you  got  a  wagon,  Buck?  " 

"What  fer?" 

"  To  bring  the  fish  back."  Buck  was 
not  to  be  caught  napping. 

"  We  got  that  sled  thar,  but  hit  won't 
be  big  enough,"  he  said  gravely.  "  An' 
our  two-hoss  wagon's  out  in  the  cornfield. 
We'll  have  to  string  the  fish,  leave  'em  in 
the  river  and  go  fer  'em  in  the  mornin'." 

"All  right,  Buck."  The  Blight  was 
greatly  amused  at  Buck. 

Two  hundred  yards  down  the  road 
stood  his  sisters  over  the  figure  of  a  man 
outstretched  in  the  road.  Unashamed, 
they  smiled  at  us.  The  man  in  the  road 
was  "  pap  " — tight — and  they  were  trying 
to  get  him  home. 

[60] 


CLOSE    QUARTERS 


We  cast  into  a  dark  pool  farther  down 
and  fished  most  patiently;  not  a  bite — not 
a  nibble. 

"  Are  there  any  fish  in  here,  Buck?  " 

"  Dunno — used  ter  be."  The  shadows 
deepened;  we  must  go  back  to  the  house. 

"  Is  there  a  dam  below  here,  Buck?  " 

"  Yes,  thar's  a  dam  about  a  half-mile 
down  the  river." 

I  was  disgusted.  No  wonder  there  were 
no  bass  in  that  pool. 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  that  before?  " 

"  You  never  axed  me,"  said  Buck  plac 
idly. 

I  began  winding  in  my  line. 

"  Ain't  no  bottom  to  that  pool,"  said 
Buck. 

Now  I  never  saw  any  rural  community 
where  there  was  not  a  bottomless  pool,  and 
I  suddenly  determined  to  shake  one  tradi- 
[61] 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

tion  in  at  least  one  community.  So  I  took 
an  extra  fish-line,  tied  a  stone  to  it,  and 
climbed  into  a  canoe,  Buck  watching  me, 
but  not  asking  a  word. 

"  Get  in,  Buck." 

Silently  he  got  in  and  I  pushed  off — to 
the  centre. 

"  This  the  deepest  part,  Buck?  " 

"  I  reckon  so." 

I  dropped  in  the  stone  and  the  line 
reeled  out  some  fifty  feet  and  began  to  coil 
on  the  surface  of  the  water. 

"  I  guess  that's  on  the  bottom,  isn't  it, 
Buck?" 

Buck  looked  genuinely  distressed;  but 
presently  he  brightened. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  ef  hit  ain't  on  a  tur 
tle's  back." 

Literally  I  threw  up  both  hands  and 
back  we  trailed — fishless. 


CLOSE    QUARTERS 


"  Reckon  you  won't  need  that  two-boss 
wagon,"  said  Buck. 

"  No,  Buck,  I  think  not."  Buck  looked 
at  the  Blight  and  gave  himself  the  pleasure 
of  his  first  chuckle.  A  big  crackling,  cheer 
ful  fire  awaited  us.  Through  the  door  I 
could  see,  outstretched  on  a  bed  in  the  next 
room,  the  limp  figure  of  "  pap  "  in  alco 
holic  sleep.  The  old  mother,  big,  kind- 
faced,  explained — and  there  was  a  heaven 
of  kindness  and  charity  in  her  drawling 
voice. 

"  Dad  didn'  often  git  that  a-way,n  she 
said;  "but  he'd  been  out  a-huntin'  hawgs 
that  mornin'  and  had  met  up  with  some 
teamsters  and  gone  to  a  political  speakin' 
and  had  tuk  a  dram  or  two  of  their  mean 
whiskey,  and  not  havin'  nothin'  on  his 
stummick,  hit  had  all  gone  to  his  head. 
No,  *  pap  '  didn't  git  that  a-way  often,  and 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

he'd  be  all  right  jes'  as  soon  as  he  slept  it 
off  a  while."  The  old  woman  moved 
about  with  a  cane  and  the  sympathetic 
Blight  merely  looked  a  question  at  her. 

"  Yes,  she'd  fell  down  a  year  ago — and 
had  sort  o'  hurt  herself — didn't  do  nothin', 
though,  'cept  break  one  hip,"  she  added,  in 
her  kind,  patient  old  voice.  Did  many 
people  stop  there?  Oh,  yes,  sometimes  fif 
teen  at  a  time — they  "  never  turned  no 
body  away."  And  she  had  a  big  family, 
little  Cindy  and  the  two  big  girls  and  Buck 
and  Mart — who  was  out  somewhere — and 
the  hired  man,  and  yes — "  Thar  was  an 
other  boy,  but  he  was  fitified,"  said  one 
of  the  big  sisters. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  wonder 
ing  Blight,  but  she  knew  that  phrase 
wouldn't  do,  so  she  added  politely: 

"What  did  you  say?" 
[64] 


CLOSE    QUARTERS 


"  Fitified — Tom  has  fits.  He's  in  a  asy 
lum  in  the  settlements." 

"  Tom  come  back  once  an'  he  was  all 
right,"  said  the  old  mother;  "  but  he  wor 
ried  so  much  over  them  gals  workin'  so 
hard  that  it  plum'  throwed  him  off  ag'in, 
and  we  had  to  send  him  back." 

"  Do  you  work  pretty  hard?  "  I  asked 
presently.  Then  a  story  came  that  was  full 
of  unconscious  pathos,  because  there  was 
no  hint  of  complaint — simply  a  plain  state 
ment  of  daily  life.  They  got  up  before 
the  men,  in  order  to  get  breakfast  ready; 
then  they  went  with  the  men  into  the  fields 
— those  two  girls — and  worked  like  men. 
At  dark  they  got  supper  ready,  and  after 
the  men  went  to  bed  they  worked  on — 
washing  dishes  and  clearing  up  the  kitchen. 
They  took  it  turn  about  getting  supper, 
and  sometimes,  one  said,  she  was  "  so 

[65] 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

plumb  tuckered  out  that  she'd  drap  on  the 
bed  and  go  to  sleep  ruther  than  eat  her 
own  supper."  No  wonder  poor  Tom  had 
to  go  back  to  the  asylum.  All  the 
while  the  two  girls  stood  by  the  fire  look 
ing,  politely  but  minutely,  at  the  two 
strange  girls  and  their  curious  clothes  and 
their  boots,  and  the  way  they  dressed  their 
hair.  Their  hard  life  seemed  to  have  hurt 
them  none — for  both  were  the  pictures  of 
health — whatever  that  phrase  means. 

After  supper  "  pap  "  came  in,  perfectly 
sober,  with  a  big  ruddy  face,  giant  frame, 
and  twinkling  gray  eyes.  He  was  the  man 
who  had  risen  to  speak  his  faith  in  the 
Hon.  Samuel  Budd  that  day  on  the  size  of 
the  Hon.  Samuel's  ears.  He,  too,  was 
unashamed  and,  as  he  explained  his  plight 
again,  he  did  it  with  little  apology. 

"  I  seed  ye  at  the  speakin'  to-day.  That 
[66] 


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man  Budd  is  a  good  man.  He  done  some- 
thin'  fer  a  boy  o'  mine  over  at  the  Gap." 
Like  little  Buck,  he,  too,  stopped  short. 
"  He's  a  good  man  an'  I'm  a-goin'  to  help 
him." 

Yes,  he  repeated,  quite  irrelevantly,  it 
was  hunting  hogs  all  day  with  nothing  to 
eat  and  only  mean  whiskey  to  drink. 
Mart  had  not  come  in  yet — he  was 
"  workin'  out  "  now. 

"  He's  the  best  worker  in  these  moun 
tains,"  said  the  old  woman;  "  Mart  works 
too  hard." 

The  hired  man  appeared  and  joined  us 
at  the  fire.  Bedtime  came,  and  I  whis 
pered  jokingly  to  the  Blight: 

"  I  believe  I'll  ask  that  good-looking 
one  to  '  set  up  '  with  me."  "  Settin'  up  " 
is  what  courting  is  called  in  the  hills.  The 
couple  sit  up  in  front  of  the  fire  after 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

everybody  else  has  gone  to  bed.  The  man 
puts  his  arm  around  the  giiTs  neck  and 
whispers ;  then  she  puts  her  arm  around  his 
neck  and  whispers — so  that  the  rest  may 
not  hear.  This  I  had  related  to  the  Blight, 
and  now  she  withered  me. 

"  You  just  do,  now !  " 

I  turned  to  the  girl  in  question,  whose 
name  was  Mollie.  "  Buck  told  me  to  ask 
you  who  Dave  Branham  was."  Mollie 
wheeled,  blushing  and  angry,  but  Buck  had 
darted  cackling  out  the  door.  "  Oh,"  I 
said,  and  I  changed  the  subject.  "  What 
time  do  you  get  up?  " 

"  Oh,  'bout  crack  o'  day."  I  was  tired, 
and  that  was  discouraging. 

"  Do  you  get  up  that  early  every  morn 
ing?" 

"  No,"  was  the  quick  answer;  "  a  morn- 
in'  later." 

[68] 


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A  morning  later,  Mollie  got  up,  each 
morning.  The  Blight  laughed. 

Pretty  soon  the  two  girls  were  taken  into 
the  next  room,  which  was  a  long  one,  with 
one  bed  in  one  dark  corner,  one  in  the 
other,  and  a  third  bed  in  the  middle.  The 
feminine  members  of  the  family  all  fol 
lowed  them  out  on  the  porch  and  watched 
them  brush  their  teeth,  for  they  had  never 
seen  tooth-brushes  before.  They  watched 
them  prepare  for  bed — and  I  could  hear 
much  giggling  and  comment  and  many 
questions,  all  of  which  culminated,  by  and 
by,  in  a  chorus  of  shrieking  laughter. 
That  climax,  as  I  learned  next  morning, 
was  over  the  Blight's  hot-water  bag. 
Never  had  their  eyes  rested  on  an  article 
of  more  wonder  and  humor  than  that 
water  bag. 

By  and  by,  the  feminine  members  came 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

back  and  we  sat  around  the  fire.  Still 
Mart  did  not  appear,  though  somebody 
stepped  into  the  kitchen,  and  from  the 
warning  glance  that  Mollie  gave  Buck 
when  she  left  the  room  I  guessed  that  the 
newcomer  was  her  lover  Dave.  Pretty 
soon  the  old  man  yawned. 

"  Well,  mammy,  I  reckon  this  stranger's 
about  ready  to  lay  down,  if  you've  got  a 
place  fer  him." 

"  Git  a  light,  Buck,"  said  the  old  wom 
an.  Buck  got  a  light — a  chimneyless, 
smoking  oil-lamp — and  led  me  into  the 
same  room  where  the  Blight  and  my  little 
sister  were.  Their  heads  were  covered 
up,  but  the  bed  in  the  gloom  of  one  corner 
was  shaking  with  their  smothered  laughter. 
Buck  pointed  to  the  middle  bed. 

"  I  can  get  along  without  that  light, 
Buck,"  I  said,  and  I  must  have  been 

[70] 


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rather  haughty  and  abrupt,  for  a  stifled 
shriek  came  from  under  the  bedclothes  in 
the  corner  and  Buck  disappeared  swiftly. 
Preparations  for  bed  are  simple  in  the 
mountains — they  were  primitively  simple 
for '  me  that  night.  Being  in  knicker 
bockers,  I  merely  took  off  my  coat  and 
shoes.  Presently  somebody  else  stepped 
into  the  room  and  the  bed  in  the  other 
corner  creaked.  Silence  for  a  while. 
Then  the  door  opened,  and  the  head  of  the 
old  woman  was  thrust  in. 

"Mart!"  she  said  coaxingly;  "  git  up 
thar  now  an'  climb  over  inter  bed  with 
that  ar  stranger." 

That  was  Mart  at  last,  over  in  the  cor 
ner.  Mart  turned,  grumbled,  and,  to  my 
great  pleasure,  swore  that  he  wouldn't. 
The  old  woman  waited  a  moment. 

"  Mart,"  she  said  again  with  gentle  im- 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

periousness,  "  git  up  thar  now,  I  tell  ye 
— youVe  got  to  sleep  with  that  thar 
stranger. " 

She  closed  the  door  and  with  a  snort 
Mart  piled  into  bed  with  me.  I  gave  him 
plenty  of  room  and  did  not  introduce  my 
self.  A  little  more  dark  silence — the 
shaking  of  the  bed  under  the  hilarity 
of  those  astonished,  bethrilled,  but  thor 
oughly  unfrightened  young  women  in  the 
dark  corner  on  my  left  ceased,  and  again 
the  door  opened.  This  time  it  was  the 
hired  man,  and  I  saw  that  the  trouble  was 
either  that  neither  Mart  nor  Buck  wanted 
to  sleep  with  the  hired  man  or  that  neither 
wanted  to  sleep  with  me.  A  long  silence 
and  then  the  boy  Buck  slipped  in.  The 
hired  man  delivered  himself  with  the  in 
tonation  somewhat  of  a  circuit  rider. 

"  I've  been  a-watchin'   that  star  thar, 


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through  the  winder.  Sometimes  hit  moves, 
then  hit  stands  plum'  still,  an'  ag'in  hit  gits 
to  pitchin'."  The  hired  man  must  have 
been  touching  up  mean  whiskey  himself. 
Meanwhile,  Mart  seemed  to  be  having 
spells  of  troubled  slumber.  He  would 
snore  gently,  accentuate  said  snore  with  a 
sudden  quiver  of  his  body  and  then  wake 
up  with  a  climacteric  snort  and  start  that 
would  shake  the  bed.  This  was  repeated 
several  times,  and  I  began  to  think  of  the 
unfortunate  Tom  who  was  "  fitified." 
Mart  seemed  on  the  verge  of  a  fit  himself, 
and  I  waited  apprehensively  for  each 
snorting  climax  to  see  if  fits  were  a  family 
failing.  They  were  not.  Peace  overcame 
Mart  and  he  slept  deeply,  but  not  I.  The 
hired  man  began  to  show  symptoms.  He 
would  roll  and  groan,  dreaming  of  feuds, 
quorum  pars  magna  fuit,  it  seemed,  and 

[73] 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

of  religious  conversion,  in  which  he  feared 
he  was  not  so  great.  Twice  he  said  aloud : 

"  An'  I  tell  you  thar  wouldn't  a  one  of 
'em  have  said  a  word  if  I'd  been  killed 
stone-dead."  Twice  he  said  it  almost 
weepingly,  and  now  and  then  he  would 
groan  appealingly : 

"  O  Lawd,  have  mercy  on  my  pore 
soul!" 

Fortunately  those  two  tired  girls  slept — 
I  could  hear  their  breathing — but  sleep 
there  was  little  for  me.  Once  the  troubled 
soul  with  the  hoe  got  up  and  stumbled  out 
to  the  water-bucket  on  the  porch  to  soothe 
the  fever  or  whatever  it  was  that  was 
burning  him,  and  after  that  he  was  quiet. 
I  awoke  before  day.  The  dim  light  at  the 
window  showed  an  empty  bed — Buck  and 
the  hired  man  were  gone.  Mart  was  slip 
ping  out  of  the  side  of  my  bed,  but  the 

[74] 


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girls  still  slept  on.  I  watched  Mart,  for 
I  guessed  I  might  now  see  what,  perhaps, 
is  the  distinguishing  trait  of  American 
civilization  down  to  its  bed-rock,  as  you 
find  it  through  the  West  and  in  the  South 
ern  hills — a  chivalrous  respect  for  women. 
Mart  thought  I  was  asleep.  Over  in  the 
corner  were  two  creatures  the  like  of  which 
I  supposed  he  had  never  seen  and  would 
not  see,  since  he  came  in  too  late  the  night 
before,  and  was  going  away  too  early  now 
— and  two  angels  straight  from  heaven 
could  not  have  stirred  my  curiosity  any 
more  than  they  already  must  have  stirred 
his.  But  not  once  did  Mart  turn  his  eyes, 
much  less  his  face,  toward  the  corner  where 
they  were — not  once,  for  I  watched  him 
closely.  And  when  he  went  out  he  sent 
his  little  sister  back  for  his  shoes,  which 
the  night-walking  hired  man  had  acci- 

[75] 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

dentally  kicked  toward  the  foot  of  the 
strangers'  bed.  In  a  minute  I  was  out 
after  him,  but  he  was  gone.  Behind  me 
the  two  girls  opened  their  eyes  on  a  room 
that  was  empty  save  for  them.  Then  the 
Blight  spoke  (this  I  was  told  later). 

"  Dear,"  she  said,  "  have  our  room 
mates  gone  ?  " 

Breakfast  at  dawn.  The  mountain  girls 
were  ready  to  go  to  work.  All  looked 
sorry  to  have  us  leave.  They  asked  us  to 
come  back  again,  and  they  meant  it.  We 
said  we  would  like  to  come  back — and  we 
meant  it — to  see  them — the  kind  old 
mother,  the  pioneer-like  old  man,  sturdy 
little  Buck,  shy  little  Cindy,  the  elusive, 
hard-working,  unconsciously  shivery  Mart, 
and  the  two  big  sisters.  As  we  started 
back  up  the  river  the  sisters  started  for  the 
fields,  and  I  thought  of  their  stricken 


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brother  in  the  settlements,  who  must  have 
been  much  like  Mart. 

Back  up  the  Big  Black  Mountain  we 
toiled,  and  late  in  the  afternoon  we  were 
on  the  State  line  that  runs  the  crest  of  the 
Big  Black.  Right  on  top  and  bisected  by 
that  State  line  sat  a  dingy  little  shack,  and 
there,  with  one  leg  thrown  over  the  pom 
mel  of  his  saddle,  sat  Marston,  drinking 
water  from  a  gourd. 

"  I  was  coming  over  to  meet  you,"  he 
said,  smiling  at  the  Blight,  who,  greatly 
pleased,  smiled  back  at  him.  The  shack 
was  a  "  blind  Tiger  "  where  whiskey  could 
be  sold  to  Kentuckians  on  the  Virginia  side 
and  to  Virginians  on  the  Kentucky  side. 
Hanging  around  were  the  slouching  figures 
of  several  moonshiners  and  the  villainous 
fellow  who  ran  it. 

"  They  are   real  ones  all  right,"   said 

[77] 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

Marston.  "  One  of  them  killed  a  revenue 
officer  at  that  front  door  last  week,  and 
was  killed  by  the  posse  as  he  was  trying 
to  escape  out  of  the  back  window.  That 
house  will  be  in  ashes  soon,"  he  added. 
And  it  was. 

As  we  rode  down  the  mountain  we  told 
him  about  our  trip  and  the  people  with 
whom  we  had  spent  the  night — and  all  the 
time  he  was  smiling  curiously. 

"Buck,"  he  said.  "  Oh,  yes,  I  know 
that  little  chap.  Mart  had  him  posted 
down  there  on  the  river  to  toll  you  to  his 
house — to  toll  you"  he  added  to  the 
Blight.  He  pulled  in  his  horse  suddenly, 
turned  and  looked  up  toward  the  top  of 
the  mountain. 

"  Ah,  I  thought  so."  We  all  looked 
back.  On  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  far  up 
ward,  on  which  the  "  blind  Tiger  "  sat  was 

[78] 


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a  gray  horse,  and  on  it  was  a  man  who, 
motionless,  was  looking  down  at  us. 
"  He's  been  following  you  all  the  way," 
said  the  engineer. 

"  Who's  been  following  us?  "  I  asked. 

"  That's  Mart  up  there — my  friend  and 
yours,"  said  Marston  to  the  Blight.  "  I'm 
rather  glad  I  didn't  meet  you  on  the  other 
side  of  the  mountain — that's  '  the  Wild 
Dog.' r  The  Blight  looked  incredulous,  but 
Marston  knew  the  man  and  knew  the  horse. 

So  Mart  —  hard-working  Mart  —  was 
the  Wild  Dog,  and  he  was  content  to  do 
the  Blight  all  service  without  thanks, 
merely  for  the  privilege  of  secretly  seeing 
her  face  now  and  then;  and  yet  he  would 
not  look  upon  that  face  when  she  was  a 
guest  under  his  roof  and  asleep. 

Still,  when  we  dropped  behind  the  two 
girls  I  gave  Marston  the  Hon.  Sam's 

[79] 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

warning,  and  for  a  moment  he  looked 
rather  grave. 

"Well,"  he  said,  smiling,  "if  I'm 
found  in  the  road  some  day,  you'll  know 
who  did  it." 

I  shook  my  head.  "Oh,  no;  he  isn't 
that  bad." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Marston. 

The  smoke  of  the  young  engineer's  coke 
ovens  lay  far  below  us  and  the  Blight  had 
never  seen  a  coke-plant  before.  It  looked 
like  Hades  even  in  the  early  dusk — the 
snake-like  coil  of  fiery  ovens  stretching  up 
the  long,  deep  ravine,  and  the  smoke- 
streaked  clouds  of  fire,  trailing  like  a  yel 
low  mist  over  them,  with  a  fierce  white 
blast  shooting  up  here  and  there  when  the 
lid  of  an  oven  was  raised,  as  though  to  add 
fresh  temperature  to  some  particular  male- 

[so] 


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factor  in  some  particular  chamber  of  tor 
ment.  Humanity  about  was  joyous,  how 
ever.  Laughter  and  banter  and  song  came 
from  the  cabins  that  lined  the  big  ravine 
and  the  little  ravines  opening  into  it.  A 
banjo  tinkled  at  the  entrance  of  "  Possum 
Trot,"  sacred  to  the  darkies.  We  moved 
toward  it.  On  the  stoop  sat  an  ecstatic 
picker  and  in  the  dust  shuffled  three  picka 
ninnies — one  boy  and  two  girls — the 
youngest  not  five  years  old.  The  crowd 
that  was  gathered  about  them  gave  way 
respectfully  as  we  drew  near;  the  little 
darkies  showed  their  white  teeth  in  jolly 
grins,  and  their  feet  shook  the  dust  in 
happy  competition.  I  showered  a  few 
coins  for  the  Blight  and  on  we  went — into 
the  mouth  of  the  many-peaked  Gap.  The 
night  train  was  coming  in  and  everybody 
had  a  smile  of  welcome  for  the  Blight — 
[81] 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

post-office  assistant,  drug  clerk,  soda-water 
boy,  telegraph  operator,  hostler,  who  came 
for  the  mules — and  when  tired,  but  happy, 
she  slipped  from  her  saddle  to  the  ground, 
she  then  and  there  gave  me  what  she 
usually  reserves  for  Christmas  morning, 
and  that,  too,  while  Marston  was  looking 
on.  Over  her  shoulder  I  smiled  at  him. 

That  night  Marston  and  the  Blight  sat 
under  the  vines  on  the  porch  until  the  late 
moon  rose  over  Wallens  Ridge,  and,  when 
bedtime  came,  the  Blight  said  impatiently 
that  she  did  not  want  to  go  home.  She 
had  to  go,  however,  next  day,  but  on  the 
next  Fourth  of  July  she  would  surely  come 
again ;  and,  as  the  young  engineer  mounted 
his  horse  and  set  his  face  toward  Black 
Mountain,  I  knew  that  until  that  day,  for 
him,  a  blight  would  still  be  in  the  hills. 

[82] 


BACK  TO   THE    HILLS 

WINTER  drew  a  gray  veil  over  the 
mountains,  wove  into  it  tiny 
jewels  of  frost  and  turned  it  many  times 
into  a  mask  of  snow,  before  spring  broke 
again  among  them  and  in  Marston's  im 
patient  heart.  No  spring  had  ever  been 
like  that  to  him.  The  coming  of  young 
leaves  and  flowers  and  bird-song  meant  but 
one  joy  for  the  hills  to  him — the  Blight 
was  coming  back  to  them.  All  those  weary 
waiting  months  he  had  clung  grimly  to  his 
work.  He  must  have  heard  from  her 
sometimes,  else  I  think  he  would  have  gone 
to  her;  but  I  knew  the  Blight's  pen  was  re- 


A   KNIGHT   OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

luctant  and  casual  for  anybody,  and,  more 
over,  she  was  having  a  strenuous  winter  at 
home.  That  he  knew  as  well,  for  he  took 
one  paper,  at  least,  that  he  might  simply 
read  her  name.  He  saw  accounts  of  her 
many  social  doings  as  well,  and  ate  his 
heart  out  as  lovers  have  done  for  all  time 
gone  and  will  do  for  all  time  to  come. 

I,  too,  was  away  all  winter,  but  I  got 
back  a  month  before  the  Blight,  to  learn 
much  of  interest  that  had  come  about. 
The  Hon.  Samuel  Budd  had  ear-wagged 
himself  into  the  legislature,  had  moved 
that  Court-House,  and  was  going  to  be 
State  Senator.  The  Wild  Dog  had  con 
fined  his  reckless  career  to  his  own  hills 
through  the  winter,  but  when  spring  came, 
migratory-like,  he  began  to  take  frequent 
wing  to  the  Gap.  So  far,  he  and  Marston 
had  never  come  into  personal  conflict, 


BACK:  TO  THE  HILLS 


though  Marston  kept  ever  ready  for  him, 
and  several  times  they  had  met  in  the  road, 
eyed  each  other  in  passing  and  made  no 
hipward  gesture  at  all.  But  then  Marston 
had  never  met  him  when  the  Wild  Dog  was 
drunk — and  when  sober,  I  took  it  that  the 
one  act  of  kindness  from  the  engineer  al 
ways  stayed  his  hand.  But  the  Police 
Guard  at  the  Gap  saw  him  quite  often — 
and  to  it  he  was  a  fearful  and  elusive 
nuisance.  He  seemed  to  be  staying  some 
where  within  a  radius  of  ten  miles,  for 
every  night  or  two  he  would  circle  about 
the  town,  yelling  and  firing  his  pistol,  and 
when  we  chased  him,  escaping  through  the 
Gap  or  up  the  valley  or  down  in  Lee. 
Many  plans  were  laid  to  catch  him,  but  all 
failed,  and  finally  he  came  in  one  day  and 
gave  himself  up  and  paid  his  fines.  After 
ward  I  recalled  that  the  time  of  this 


A   KNIGHT   OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

gracious  surrender  to  law  and  order  was 
but  little  subsequent  to  one  morning  when 
a  woman  who  brought  butter  and  eggs  to 
my  little  sister  casually  asked  when  that 
"  purty  slim  little  gal  with  the  snappin' 
black  eyes  was  a-comin'  back."  And  the 
little  sister,  pleased  with  the  remembrance, 
had  said  cordially  that  she  was  coming 
soon. 

Thereafter  the  Wild  Dog  was  in  town 
every  day,  and  he  behaved  well  until  one 
Saturday  he  got  drunk  again,  and  this 
time,  by  a  peculiar  chance,  it  was  Marston 
again  who  leaped  on  him,  wrenched  his 
pistol  away,  and  put  him  in  the  calaboose. 
Again  he  paid  his  fine,  promptly  visited  a 
"blind  Tiger,"  came  back  to  town,  emptied 
another  pistol  at  Marston  on  sight  and  fled 
for  the  hills. 

The  enraged  guard  chased  him  for  two 
[86] 


BACK    TO    THE    HILLS 


days  and  from  that  day  the  Wild  Dog  was 
a  marked  man.  The  Guard  wanted  many 
men,  but  if  they  could  have  had  their 
choice  they  would  have  picked  out  of  the 
world  of  malefactors  that  same  Wild  Dog. 

Why  all  this  should  have  thrown  the 
Hon.  Samuel  Budd  into  such  gloom  I  could 
not  understand — except  that  the  Wild  Dog 
had  been  so  loyal  a  henchman  to  him  in 
politics,  but  later  I  learned  a  better  reason, 
that  threatened  to  cost  the  Hon.  Sam  much 
more  than  the  fines  that,  as  I  later  learned, 
he  had  been  paying  for  his  mountain 
friend. 

Meanwhile,  the  Blight  was  coming  from 
her  Northern  home  through  the  green  low 
lands  of  Jersey,  the  fat  pastures  of  Mary 
land,  and,  as  the  white  dresses  of  school 
girls  and  the  shining  faces  of  darkies  thick 
ened  at  the  stations,  she  knew  that  she  was 


A  KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

getting  southward.  All  the  way  she  was 
known  and  welcomed,  and  next  morning 
she  awoke  with  the  keen  air  of  the  distant 
mountains  in  her  nostrils  and  an  expectant 
light  in  her  happy  eyes.  At  least  the  light 
was  there  when  she  stepped  daintily  from 
the  dusty  train  and  it  leaped  a  little,  I  fan 
cied,  when  Marston,  bronzed  and  flushed, 
held  out  his  sunburnt  hand.  Like  a  con 
vent  girl  she  babbled  questions  to  the  little 
sister  as  the  dummy  puffed  along  and  she 
bubbled  like  wine  over  the  midsummer 
glory  of  the  hills.  And  well  she  might,  for 
the  glory  of  the  mountains,  full-leafed, 
shrouded  in  evening  shadows,  blue-veiled 
in  the  distance,  was  unspeakable,  and 
through  the  Gap  the  sun  was  sending  his 
last  rays  as  though  he,  too,  meant  to  take  a 
peep  at  her  before  he  started  around  the 
world  to  welcome  her  next  day.  And  she 
[88] 


BACK    TO    THE    HILLS 


must  know  everything  at  once.  The  anni 
versary  of  the  Great  Day  on  which  all  men 
were  pronounced  free  and  equal  was  only 
ten  days  distant  and  preparations  were  go 
ing  on.  There  would  be  a  big  crowd  of 
mountaineers  and  there  would  be  sports 
of  all  kinds,  and  games,  but  the  tourna 
ment  was  to  be  the  feature  of  the  day. 
"  A  tournament?  "  "  Yes,  a  tournament," 
repeated  the  little  sister,  and  Marston  was 
going  to  ride  and  the  mean  thing  would 
not  tell  what  mediaeval  name  he  meant  to 
take.  And  the  Hon.  Sam  Budd — did  the 
Blight  remember  him?  (Indeed,  she  did) 
— had  a  "  dark  horse,"  and  he  had  bet 
heavily  that  his  dark  horse  would  win 
the  tournament — whereat  the  little  sister 
looked  at  Marston  and  at  the  Blight  and 
smiled  disdainfully.  And  the  Wild  Dog — 
did  she  remember  him?  I  checked  the 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

sister  here  with  a  glance,  for  Marston 
looked  uncomfortable  and  the  Blight  saw 
me  do  it,  and  on  the  point  of  saying  some 
thing  she  checked  herself,  and  her  face,  I 
thought,  paled  a  little. 

That  night  I  learned  why — when  she 
came  in  from  the  porch  after  Marston  was 
gone.  I  saw  she  had  wormed  enough  of 
the  story  out  of  him  to  worry  her,  for  her 
face  this  time  was  distinctly  pale.  I  would 
tell  her  no  more  than  she  knew,  however, 
and  then  she  said  she  was  sure  she  had  seen 
the  Wild  Dog  herself  that  afternoon,  sit 
ting  on  his  horse  in  the  bushes  near  a 
station  in  Wildcat  Valley.  She  was  sure 
that  he  saw  her,  and  his  face  had  fright 
ened  her.  I  knew  her  fright  was  for 
Marston  and  not  for  herself,  so  I  laughed 
at  her  fears.  She  was  mistaken — Wild 
Dog  was  an  outlaw  now  and  he  would  not 

[90] 


BACK    TO    THE    HILLS 

dare  appear  at  the  Gap,  and  there  was  no 
chance  that  he  could  harm  her  or  Marston. 
And  yet  I  was  uneasy. 

It  must  have  been  a  happy  ten  days  for 
those  two  young  people.  Every  afternoon 
Marston  would  come  in  from  the  mines 
and  they  would  go  off  horseback  together, 
over  ground  that  I  well  knew — for  I  had 
been  all  over  it  myself — up  through  the 
gray-peaked  rhododendron-bordered  Gap 
with  the  swirling  water  below  them  and  the 
gray  rock  high  above  where  another  such 
foolish  lover  lost  his  life,  climbing  to  get 
a  flower  for  his  sweetheart,  or  down  the 
winding  dirt  road  into  Lee,  or  up  through 
the  beech  woods  behind  Imboden  Hill,  or 
climbing  the  spur  of  Morris's  Farm  to 
watch  the  sunset  over  the  majestic  Big 
Black  Mountains,  where  the  Wild  Dog 
lived,  and  back  through  the  fragrant,  cool, 

[91] 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

moonlit  woods.  He  was  doing  his  best, 
Marston  was,  and  he  was  having  trouble 
— as  every  man  should.  And  that  trouble 
I  knew  even  better  than  he,  for  I  had  once 
known  a  Southern  girl  who  was  so  tender 
of  heart  that  she  could  refuse  no  man  who 
really  loved  her — she  accepted  him  and 
sent  him  to  her  father,  who  did  all  of  her 
refusing  for  her.  And  I  knew  no  man 
would  know  that  he  had  won  the  Blight  un 
til  he  had  her  at  the  altar  and  the  priestly 
hand  of  benediction  was  above  her  head. 

Of  such  kind  was  the  Blight.  Every 
night  when  they  came  in  I  could  read  the 
story  of  the  day,  always  in  his  face  and 
sometimes  in  hers;  and  it  was  a  series  of 
ups  and  downs  that  must  have  wrung  the 
boy's  heart  bloodless.  Still  I  was  in  good 
hope  for  him,  until  the  crisis  came  on  the 
night  before  the  Fourth.  The  quarrel  was 

[9*] 


BACK    TO    THE    HELLS 


as  plain  as  though  typewritten  on  the  face 
of  each.  Marston  would  not  come  in  that 
night  and  the  Blight  went  dinnerless  to  bed 
and  cried  herself  to  sleep.  She  told  the 
little  sister  that  she  had  seen  the  Wild  Dog 
again  peering  through  the  bushes,  and  that 
she  was  frightened.  That  was  her  expla 
nation — but  I  guessed  a  better  one. 


[93] 


VI 

THE   GREAT   DAY 

FT  was  a  day  to  make  glad  the  heart  of 
-••  slave  or  freeman.  The  earth  was  cool 
from  a  night-long  rain,  and  a  gentle  breeze 
fanned  coolness  from  the  north  all  day 
long.  The  clouds  were  snow-white,  tum 
bling,  ever-moving,  and  between  them  the 
sky  showed  blue  and  deep.  Grass,  leaf, 
weed  and  flower  were  in  the  richness  that 
comes  to  the  green  things  of  the  earth  just 
before  that  full  tide  of  summer  whose 
foam  is  drifting  thistle-down.  The  air  was 
clear  and  the  mountains  seemed  to  have 
brushed  the  haze  from  their  faces  and 

[94] 


THE    GREAT    DAY 


drawn  nearer  that  they,  too,  might  better 
see  the  doings  of  that  day. 

From  the  four  winds  of  heaven,  that 
morning,  came  the  brave  and  the  free.  Up 
from  Lee,  down  from  Little  Stone  Gap, 
and  from  over  in  Scott,  came  the  valley- 
farmers — horseback,  in  buggies,  hacks, 
two-horse  wagons,  with  wives,  mothers, 
sisters,  sweethearts,  in  white  dresses,  be- 
flowered  hats,  and  many  ribbons,  and 
with  dinner-baskets  stuffed  with  good 
things  to  eat — old  ham,  young  chicken, 
angel-cake  and  blackberry  wine  —  to  be 
spread  in  the  sunless  shade  of  great 
poplar  and  oak.  From  Bum  Hollow 
and  Wildcat  Valley  and  from  up  the 
slopes  that  lead  to  Cracker's  Neck  came 
smaller  tillers  of  the  soil — as  yet  but 
faintly  marked  by  the  gewgaw  trappings 
of  the  outer  world;  while  from  beyond 

[95] 


A   KNIGHT   OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

High  Knob,  whose  crown  is  in  cloud-land, 
and  through  the  Gap,  came  the  moun 
taineer  in  the  primitive  simplicity  of  home 
spun  and  cowhide,  wide-brimmed  hat  and 
poke-bonnet,  quaint  speech,  and  slouching 
gait.  Through  the  Gap  he  came  in  two 
streams — the  Virginians  from  Crab  Or 
chard  and  Wise  and  Dickinson,  the  Ken- 
tuckians  from  Letcher  and  feudal  Harlan, 
beyond  the  Big  Black — and  not  a  man 
carried  a  weapon  in  sight,  for  the  stern 
spirit  of  that  Police  Guard  at  the  Gap 
was  respected  wide  and  far.  Into  the 
town,  which  sits  on  a  plateau  some  twenty 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  two  rivers  that 
all  but  encircle  it,  they  poured,  hitching 
their  horses  in  the  strip  of  woods  that  runs 
through  the  heart  of  the  place,  and  broad 
ens  into  a  primeval  park  that,  fan-like, 
opens  on  the  oval  level  field  where  all 

[96] 


THE    GREAT    DAY 


things  happen  on  the  Fourth  of  July. 
About  the  street  they  loitered — lovers  hand 
in  hand — eating  fruit  and  candy  and  drink 
ing  soda-water,  or  sat  on  the  curb-stone, 
mothers  with  babies  at  their  breasts  and 
toddling  children  clinging  close — all  wait 
ing  for  the  celebration  to  begin. 

It  was  a  great  day  for  the  Hon.  Samuel 
Budd.  With  a  cheery  smile  and  beaming 
goggles,  he  moved  among  his  constituents, 
joking  with  yokels,  saying  nice  things  to 
riothers,  paying  gallantries  to  girls,  and 
chucking  babies  under  the  chin.  He  felt 
popular  and  he  was — so  popular  that  he 
had  begun  to  see  himself  with  prophetic  eye 
in  a  congressional  seat  at  no  distant  day; 
and  yet,  withal,  he  was  not  wholly  happy. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  them  fellers 
I  made  bets  with  in  the  tournament  got  to 
gether  this  morning  and  decided,  all  of  'em, 

[97] 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

that  they  wouldn't  let  me  off  ?  Jerusalem, 
it's  most  five  hundred  dollars !  "  And, 
looking  the  picture  of  dismay,  he  told  me 
his  dilemma. 

It  seems  that  his  "  dark  horse "  was 
none  other  than  the  Wild  Dog,  who  had 
been  practising  at  home  for  this  tourna 
ment  for  nearly  a  year;  and  now  that  the 
Wild  Dog  was  an  outlaw,  he,  of  course, 
wouldn't  and  couldn't  come  to  the  Gap. 
And  said  the  Hon.  Sam  Budd: 

"  Them  fellers  says  I  bet  I'd  bring  in  a 
dark  horse  who  would  win  this  tournament, 
and  if  I  don't  bring  him  in,  I  lose  just  the 
same  as  though  I  had  brought  him  in  and 
he  hadn't  won.  An'  I  reckon  they've  got 


me." 


"  I  guess  they  have." 
"  It  would  have  been  like  pickin'  money 
off  a  blackberry-bush,  for  I  was  goin'  to  let 

[98] 


THE    GREAT    DAY 


-the  Wild  Dog  have  that  black  horse  o* 
mine — the  steadiest  and  fastest  runner  in 
this  country — and  my,  how  that  fellow  can 
pick  off  the  rings !  He's  been  a-practising 
for  a  year,  and  I  believe  he  could  run  the 
point  o'  that  spear  of  his  through  a  lady's 
finger-ring." 

"  You'd  better  get  somebody  else." 
"  Ah— that's  it.  The  Wild  Dog  sent 
word  he'd  send  over  another  feller,  named 
Dave  Branham,  who  has  been  practising 
with  him,  who's  just  as  good,  he  says,  as  he 
is.  I'm  looking  for  him  at  twelve  o'clock, 
an'  I'm  goin'  to  take  him  down  an'  see 
what  he  can  do  on  that  black  horse  o'  mine. 
But  if  he's  no  good,  I  lose  five  hundred, 
all  right,"  and  he  sloped  away  to  his  duties. 
For  it  was  the  Hon.  Sam  who  was  master 
of  ceremonies  that  day.  He  was  due  now 
to  read  the  Declaration  of  Independence  in 

[99] 


A  KNIGHT   OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

a  poplar  grove  to  all  who  would  listen;  he 
was  to  act  as  umpire  at  the  championship 
base-ball  game  in  the  afternoon,  and  he 
was  to  give  the  "  Charge  "  to  the  assem 
bled  knights  before  the  tournament. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  games  began — and  I 
took  the  Blight  and  the  little  sister  down 
to  the  "  grandstand " — several  tiers  of 
backless  benches  with  leaves  for  a  canopy 
and  the  river  singing  through  rhododen 
drons  behind.  There  was  jumping  broad 
and  high,  and  a  loo-yard  dash  and  hurd 
ling  and  throwing  the  hammer,  which  the 
Blight  said  were  not  interesting — they 
were  too  much  like  college  sports — and  she 
wanted  to  see  the  base-ball  game  and  the 
tournament.  And  yet  Marston  was  in 
them  all — dogged  and  resistless — his  teeth 
set  and  his  eyes  anywhere  but  lifted  toward 
the  Blight,  who  secretly  proud,  as  I  be- 


THE    GREAT    DAY 


lieved,  but  openly  defiant,  mentioned  not 
his  name  even  when  he  lost,  which  was 
twice  only. 

"  Pretty  good,  isn't  he?  "  I  said. 

"Who?"  she  said  indifferently. 

"  Oh,  nobody,"  I  said,  turning  to  smile, 
but  not  turning  quickly  enough. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you?  "  asked 
the  Blight  sharply. 

"  Nothing,  nothing  at  all,"  I  said,  and 
straightway  the  Blight  thought  she  wanted 
to  go  home.  The  thunder  of  the  Declara 
tion  was  still  rumbling  in  the  poplar  grove. 

"  That's  the  Hon.  Sam  Budd,"  I  said. 
"  Don't  you  want  to  hear  him?  " 

"  I  don't  care  who  it  is — and  I  don't 
want  to  hear  him  and  I  think  you  are 
hateful." 

Ah,  dear  me,  it  was  more  serious  than  I 
thought.  There  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  and 

[101] 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

I  led  the  Blight  and  the  little  sister  home — 
conscience-stricken  and  humbled.  Still  I 
would  find  that  young  jackanapes  of  an  en 
gineer  and  let  him  know  that  anybody  who 
made  the  Blight  unhappy  must  deal  with 
me.  I  would  take  him  by  the  neck  and 
pound  some  sense  into  him.  I  found  him 
lofty,  uncommunicative,  perfectly  alien  to 
any  consciousness  that  I  could  have  any 
knowledge  of  what  was  going  or  any  right 
to  poke  my  nose  into  anybody's  business — 
and  I  did  nothing  except  go  back  to  lunch 
— to  find  the  Blight  upstairs  and  the  little 
sister  indignant  with  me. 

"  You  just  let  them  alone,'*  she  said  se 
verely. 

"  Let  who  alone?  "  I  said,  lapsing  into 
the  speech  of  childhood. 

1  You — just — let — them — alone,"  she 
repeated. 


THE    GREAT    DAY 


"  I've  already  made  up  my  mind  to 
that." 

"  Well,  then !  "  she  said,  with  an  air  of 
satisfaction,  but  why  I  don't  know. 

I  went  back  to  the  poplar  grove.  The 
Declaration  was  over  and  the  crowd  was 
gone,  but  there  was  the  Hon.  Samuel 
Budd,  mopping  his  brow  with  one  hand, 
slapping  his  thigh  with  the  other,  and  all 
but  executing  a  pigeon-wing  on  the  turf. 
He  turned  goggles  on  me  that  literally 
shone  triumph. 

"  He's  come — Dave  Branham's  come !  " 
he  said.  "  He's  better  than  the  Wild  Dog. 
I've  been  trying  him  on  the  black  horse 
and,  Lord,  how  he  can  take  them  rings  off ! 
Ha,  won't  I  get  into  them  fellows  who 
wouldn't  let  me  off  this  morning !  Oh,  yes, 
I  agreed  to  bring  in  a  dark  horse,  and  I'll 
bring  him  in  all  right.  That  five  hundred 

C 103] 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

is  in  my  clothes  now.  You  see  that  point 
yonder?  Well,  there's  a  hollow  there  and 
bushes  all  around.  That's  where  I'm  go 
ing  to  dress  him.  I've  got  his  clothes  all 
right  and  a  name  for  him.  This  thing 
is  a-goin'  to  come  off  accordin'  to  Hoyle, 
Ivanhoe,  Four-Quarters-of-Beef,  and  all 
them  mediaeval  fellows.  Just  watch  me !  " 
I  began  to  get  newly  interested,  for  that 
knight's  name  I  suddenly  recalled.  Little 
Buck,  the  Wild  Dog's  brother,  had  men 
tioned  him,  when  we  were  over  in  the 
Kentucky  hills,  as  practising  with  the  Wild 
Dog — as  being  "  mighty  good,  but  nowhar 
'longside  o'  Mart."  So  the  Hon.  Sam 
might  have  a  good  substitute,  after  all,  and 
being  a  devoted  disciple  of  Sir  Walter,  I 
knew  his  knight  would  rival,  in  splendor, 
at  least,  any  that  rode  with  King  Arthur 
in  days  of  old. 

[  104] 


THE    GREAT    DAY 


The  Blight  was  very  quiet  at  lunch,  as 
was  the  little  sister,  and  my  effort  to  be 
jocose  was  a  lamentable  failure.  So  I  gave 
news. 

"  The  Hon.  Sam  has  a  substitute."  No 
curiosity  and  no  question. 

"Who — did  you  say?  Why,  Dave 
Branham,  a  friend  of  the  Wild  Dog. 
Don't  you  remember  Buck  telling  us  about 
him?"  No  answer.  "  Well,  I  do— and, 
by  the  way,  I  saw  Buck  and  one  of  the  big 
sisters  just  a  while  ago.  Her  name  is 
Mollie.  Dave  Branham,  you  will  recall,  is 
her  sweetheart.  The  other  big  sister  had 
to  stay  at  home  with  her  mother  and  little 
Cindy,  who's  sick.  Of  course,  I  didn't  ask 
them  about  Mart — the  Wild  Dog.  They 
knew  I  knew  and  they  wouldn't  have  liked 
it.  The  Wild  Dog's  around,  I  understand, 
but  he  won't  dare  show  his  face.  Every 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

policeman  in  town  is  on  the  lookout  for 
him."  I  thought  the  Blight's  face  showed 
a  signal  of  relief. 

"  I'm  going  to  play  short-stop,"  I  added. 

"  Oh !  "  said  the  Blight,  with  a  smile, 
but  the  little  sister  said  with  some  scorn: 

"You!" 

"  I'll  show  you,"  I  said,  and  I  told  the 
Blight  about  base-ball  at  the  Gap.  We 
had  introduced  base-ball  into  the  region 
and  the  valley  boys  and  mountain  boys, 
being  swift  runners,  throwing  like  a  rifle 
shot  from  constant  practice  with  stones, 
and  being  hard  as  nails,  caught  the  game 
quickly  and  with  great  ease.  We  beat  them 
all  the  time  at  first,  but  now  they  were 
beginning  to  beat  us.  We  had  a  league 
now,  and  this  was  the  championship  game 
for  the  pennant. 

"  It  was  right  funny  the  first  time  we 
[106] 


THE    GREAT    DAY 


beat  a  native  team.  Of  course,  we  got  to 
gether  and  cheered  'em.  They  thought  we 
were  cheering  ourselves,  so  they  got  red  in 
the  face,  rushed  together  and  whooped  It 
up  for  themselves  for  about  half  an  hour." 

The  Blight  almost  laughed. 

"  We  used  to  have  to  carry  our  guns 
around  with  us  at  first  when  we  went  to 
other  places,  and  we  came  near  having 
several  fights." 

"  Oh !  "  said  the  Blight  excitedly.  "  Do 
you  think  there  might  be  a  fight  this  after 
noon?  " 

"  Don't  know,"  I  said,  shaking  my  head. 
"  It's  pretty  hard  for  eighteen  people  to 
fight  when  nine  of  them  are  policemen  and 
there  are  forty  more  around.  Still  the 
crowd  might  take  a  hand." 

This,  I  saw,  quite  thrilled  the  Blight  and 
she  was  in  good  spirits  when  we  started  out. 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

"  Marston  doesn't  pitch  this  afternoon," 
I  said  to  the  little  sister.  "  He  plays  first 
base.  He's  saving  himself  for  the  tour 
nament.  He's  done  too  much  already." 
The  Blight  merely  turned  her  head  while  I 
was  speaking.  "  And  the  Hon.  Sam  will 
not  act  as  umpire.  He  wants  to  save  his 
voice — and  his  head." 

The  seats  in  the  "  grandstand  "  were  in 
the  sun  now,  so  I  left  the  girls  in  a  de 
serted  band-stand  that  stood  on  stilts  under 
trees  on  the  southern  side  of  the  field,  and 
on  a  line  midway  between  third  base  and 
the  position  of  short-stop.  Now  there  is 
no  enthusiasm  in  any  sport  that  equals  the 
excitement  aroused  by  a  rural  base-ball 
game  and  I  never  saw  the  enthusiasm  of 
that  game  outdone  except  by  the  excitement 
of  the  tournament  that  followed  that  after 
noon.  The  game  was  close  and  Marston 
[108] 


THE    GREAT    DAY 


and  I  assuredly  were  stars — Marston  one 
of  the  first  magnitude.  "  Goose-egg  "  on 
one  side  matched  "  goose-egg "  on  the 
other  until  the  end  of  the  fifth  inning,  when 
the  engineer  knocked  a  home-run.  Spec 
tators  threw  their  hats  into  the  trees,  yelled 
themselves  hoarse,  and  I  saw  several  old 
mountaineers  who  understood  no  more  of 
base-ball  than  of  the  lost  digamma  in  Greek 
going  wild  with  the  general  contagion. 
During  these  innings  I  had  "  assisted  "  in 
two  doubles  and  had  fired  in  three  "  daisy- 
cutters  "  to  first  myself  in  spite  of  the 
guying  I  got  from  the  opposing  rooters. 
"  Four-eyes  "  they  called  me  on  account  of 
my  spectacles  until  a  new  nickname  came 
at  the  last  half  of  the  ninth  inning, 
when  we  were  in  the  field  with  the  score 
four  to  three  in  our  favor.  It  was  then 
that  a  small,  fat  boy  with  a  paper  mega- 
[  109] 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

phone  longer  than  he  was  waddled  out 
almost  to  first  base  and  levelling  his  trum 
pet  at  me,  thundered  out  in  a  sudden 
silence : 

"Hello,  Foxy  Grandpa  I"  That  was 
too  much.  I  got  rattled,  and  when  there 
were  three  men  on  bases  and  two  out,  a 
swift  grounder  came  to  me,  I  fell — catch 
ing  it — and  threw  wildly  to  first  from  my 
knees.  I  heard  shouts  of  horror,  anger, 
and  distress  from  everywhere  and  my  own 
heart  stopped  beating — I  had  lost  the 
game — and  then  Marston  leaped  in  the 
air — surely  it  must  have  been  four  feet — 
caught  the  ball  with  his  left  hand  and 
dropped  back  on  the  bag.  The  sound  of 
his  foot  on  it  and  the  runner's  was  almost 
simultaneous,  but  the  umpire  said  Mar- 
ston's  was  there  first.  Then  bedlam !  One 
of  my  brothers  was  umpire  and  the  cap- 
[no] 


THE    GREAT    DAY 


tain  of  the  other  team  walked  threaten 
ingly  out  toward  him,  followed  by  two  of 
his  men  with  base-ball  bats.  As  I  started 
off  myself  towards  them  I  saw,  with  the 
corner  of  my  eye,  another  brother  of  mine 
start  in  a  run  from  the  left  field,  and  I 
wondered  why  a  third,  who  was  scoring, 
sat  perfectly  still  in  his  chair,  particularly 
as  a  well-known,  red-headed  tough  from 
one  of  the  mines  who  had  been  officiously 
antagonistic  ran  toward  the  pitcher's  box 
directly  in  front  of  him.  Instantly  a  dozen 
of  the  guard  sprang  toward  it,  some  man 
pulled  his  pistol,  a  billy  cracked  straight 
way  on  his  head,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
order  was  restored.  And  still  the  brother 
scoring  hadn't  moved  from  his  chair,  and 
I  spoke  to  him  hotly. 

"  Keep  your  shirt  on,"  he  said  easily, 
lifting  his  score-card  with  his  left  hand  and 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

showing  his  right  clinched  about  his  pistol 
under  it. 

"  I  was  just  waiting  for  that  red-head  to 
make  a  move.  I  guess  I'd  have  got  him 
first." 

I  walked  back  to  the  Blight  and  the 
little  sister  and  both  of  them  looked  very 
serious  and  frightened. 

"  I  don't  think  I  want  to  see  a  real  fight, 
after  all,"  said  the  Blight.  "  Not  this 
afternoon." 

It  was  a  little  singular  and  prophetic, 
but  just  as  the  words  left  her  lips  one  of 
the  Police  Guard  handed  me  a  piece  of 
paper. 

"  Somebody  in  the  crowd  must  have 
dropped  it  in  my  pocket,"  he  said.  On  the 
paper  were  scrawled  these  words : 

"  Look  out  for  the  Wild  Dog!  " 

I  sent  the  paper  to  Marston. 

[112] 


VII 

AT    LAST THE   TOURNAMENT 

AT  last — the  tournament! 
Ever  afterward  the  Hon.  Sam 
uel  Budd  called  it  "  The  Gentle  and 
Joyous  Passage  of  Arms — not  of  Ashby — 
but  of  the  Gap,  by-suh!"  The  Hon. 
Samuel  had  arranged  it  as  nearly  after  Sir 
Walter  as  possible.  And  a  sudden  leap  it 
was  from  the  most  modern  of  games  to  a 
game  most  ancient. 

No  knights  of  old  ever  jousted  on  a  love 
lier  field  than  the  green  little  valley  toward 
which  the  Hon.  Sam  waved  one  big  hand. 
It  was  level,  shorn  of  weeds,  elliptical 
in  shape,  and  bound  in  by  trees  that  ran 

[113] 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

in  a  semicircle  around  the  bank  of  the  river, 
shut  in  the  southern  border,  and  ran  back 
to  the  northern  extremity  in  a  primeval 
little  forest  that  wood-thrushes,  even  then, 
were  making  musical — all  of  it  shut  in  by 
a  wall  of  living  green,  save  for  one  narrow 
space  through  which  the  knights  were  to 
enter.  In  front  waved  Wallens'  leafy 
ridge  and  behind  rose  the  Cumberland 
Range  shouldering  itself  spur  by  spur,  into 
the  coming  sunset  and  crashing  eastward 
into  the  mighty  bulk  of  PowelPs  Moun 
tain,  which  loomed  southward  from  the 
head  of  the  valley — all  nodding  sunny 
plumes  of  chestnut. 

The  Hon.  Sam  had  seen  us  coming  from 
afar  apparently,  had  come  forward  to  meet 
us,  and  he  was  in  high  spirits. 

"  I  am  Prince  John  and  Waldemar  and 
all  the  rest  of  'em  this  day,"  he  said,  "  and 

[114] 


AT    LAST— THE    TOURNAMENT 

*  it  is  thus,'  "  quoting  Sir  Walter,  "  that 
we  set  the  dutiful  example  of  loyalty  to  the 
Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty,  and  are  our 
selves  her  guide  to  the  throne  which  she 
must  this  day  occupy."  And  so  saying, 
the  Hon.  Sam  marshalled  the  Blight  to  a 
seat  of  honor  next  his  own. 

"  And  how  do  you  know  she  is  going  to 
be  the  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty?  "  asked 
the  little  sister.  The  Hon.  Sam  winked  at 
me. 

"  Well,  this  tournament  lies  between 
two  gallant  knights.  One  will  make  her 
the  Queen  of  his  own  accord,  if  he  wins, 
and  if  the  other  wins,  he's  got  to,  or  I'll 
break  his  head.  I've  given  orders."  And 
the  Hon.  Sam  looked  about  right  and  left 
on  the  people  who  were  his  that  day. 

"  Observe  the  nobles  and  ladies,"  he 
said,  still  following  Sir  Walter,  and  wav- 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

ing  at  the  towns-people  and  visitors  in  the 
rude  grandstand.  "  Observe  the  yeo 
manry  and  spectators  of  a  better  degree 
than  the  mere  vulgar " — waving  at  the 
crowd  on  either  side  of  the  stand — "  and 
the  promiscuous  multitude  down  the  river 
banks  and  over  the  woods  and  clinging  to 
the  tree-tops  and  to  yon  telegraph-pole. 
And  there  is  my  herald  " — pointing  to  the 
cornetist  of  the  local  band — "  and  wait — 
by  my  halidom — please  just  wait  until  you 
see  my  knight  on  that  black  charger  o' 


mine." 


The  Blight  and  the  little  sister  were  con 
vulsed  and  the  Hon.  Sam  went  on: 

"  Look  at  my  men-at-arms  " — the  vol 
unteer  policemen  with  bulging  hip-pockets, 
dangling  billies  and  gleaming  shields  of 
office — "  and  at  my  refreshment  tents  be 
hind  " — where  peanuts  and  pink  lemonade 
[116] 


AT    LAST— THE    TOURNAMENT 

were  keeping  the  multitude  busy — "  and 
my  attendants  " — colored  gentlemen  with 
sponges  and  water-buckets — "  the  armorers 
and  farriers  haven't  come  yet.  But  my 
knight — I  got  his  clothes  in  New  York — 
just  wait — Love  of  Ladies  and  Glory  to 
the  Brave !  "  Just  then  there  was  a  com 
motion  on  the  free  seats  on  one  side  of 
the  grandstand.  A  darky  starting,  in  all 
ignorance,  to  mount  them  was  stopped  and 
jostled  none  too  good-naturedly  back  to  the 
ground. 

"  And  see,"  mused  the  Hon.  Sam,  "  in 
lieu  of  the  dog  of  an  unbeliever  we  have  a 
dark  analogy  in  that  son  of  Ham." 

The  little  sister  plucked  me  by  the  sleeve 
and  pointed  toward  the  entrance.  Outside 
and  leaning  on  the  fence  were  Mollie,  the 
big  sister,  and  little  Buck.  Straightway  I 
got  up  and  started  for  them.  They  hung 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

back,  but  I  persuaded  them  to  come,  and 
I  led  them  to  seats  two  tiers  below  the 
Blight — who,  with  my  little  sister,  rose 
smiling  to  greet  them  and  shake  hands — 
much  to  the  wonder  of  the  nobles  and 
ladies  close  about,  for  Mollie  was  in  brave 
and  dazzling  array,  blushing  fiercely,  and 
little  Buck  looked  as  though  he  would  die 
of  such  conspicuousness.  No  embarrass 
ing  questions  were  asked  about  Mart  or 
Dave  Branham,  but  I  noticed  that  Mollie 
had  purple  and  crimson  ribbons  clinched 
in  one  brown  hand.  The  purpose  of 
them  was  plain,  and  I  whispered  to  the 
Blight: 

"  She's  going  to  pin  them  on  Dave's 
lance."  The  Hon.  Sam  heard  me. 

"  Not  on  your  life,"  he  said  emphati 
cally.  "  I  ain't  takin'  chances,"  and  he 
nodded  toward  the  Blight.  "  She's  got  to 
[118] 


AT   LAST— THE    TOURNAMENT 

win,  no  matter  who  loses."  He  rose  to  his 
feet  suddenly. 

"  Glory  to  the  Brave — they're  comin'  ! 
Toot  that  horn,  son,"  he  said;  "they're 
comin',"  and  the  band  burst  into  discord 
ant  sounds  that  would  have  made  the 
"  wild  barbaric  music "  on  the  field  of 
Ashby  sound  like  a  lullaby.  The  Blight 
stifled  her  laughter  over  that  amazing 
music  with  her  handkerchief,  and  even  the 
Hon.  Sam  scowled. 

"  Geel  "  he  said;  "  it  is  pretty  bad,  isn't 
it?" 

"Here  they  come!" 

The  nobles  and  ladies  on  the  grand 
stand,  the  yeomanry  and  spectators  of  bet 
ter  degree,  and  the  promiscuous  multitude 
began  to  sway  expectantly  and  over  the  hill 
came  the  knights,  single  file,  gorgeous  in 
velvets  and  in  caps,  with  waving  plumes 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

and  with  polished  spears,  vertical,  resting 
on  the  right  stirrup  foot  and  gleaming  in 
the  sun. 

"  A  goodly  array !  "  murmured  the 
Hon.  Sam. 

A  crowd  of  small  boys  gathered  at  the 
fence  below,  and  I  observed  the  Hon. 
Sam's  pockets  bulging  with  peanuts. 

"  Largesse !  "  I  suggested. 

"Good!"  he  said,  and  rising  he 
shouted : 

"  Largessy !  largessy !  "  scattering  pea 
nuts  by  the  handful  among  the  scrambling 
urchins. 

Down  wound  the  knights  behind  the 
back  stand  of  the  base-ball  field,  and  then, 
single  file,  in  front  of  the  nobles  and  ladies, 
before  whom  they  drew  up  and  faced, 
saluting  with  inverted  spears. 

The  Hon.  Sam  arose — his  truncheon  a 
[  120] 


AT    LAST— THE    TOURNAMENT 

hickory  stick — and  in  a  stentorian  voice 
asked  the  names  of  the  doughty  knights 
who  were  there  to  win  glory  for  themselves 
and  the  favor  of  fair  women. 

Not  all  will  be  mentioned,  but  among 
them  was  the  Knight  of  the  Holston — 
Athelstanic  in  build — in  black  stockings, 
white  negligee  shirt,  with  Byronic  collar, 
and  a  broad  crimson  sash  tied  with  a 
bow  at  his  right  side.  There  was  the 
Knight  of  the  Green  Valley,  in  green 
and  gold,  a  green  hat  with  a  long  white 
plume,  lace  ruffles  at  his  sleeves,  and 
buckles  on  dancing-pumps;  a  bonny  fat 
knight  of  Maxwelton  Braes,  in  Highland 
kilts  and  a  plaid;  and  the  Knight  at 
Large. 

"  He  ought  to  be  caged,"  murmured  the 
Hon.  Sam;  for  the  Knight  at  Large  wore 
plum-colored  velvet,  red  base-ball  stock- 

[121] 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

ings,  held  in  place  with  safety-pins,  white 
tennis  shoes,  and  a  very  small  hat  with  a 
very  long  plume,  and  the  dye  was  already 
streaking  his  face.  Marston  was  the  last 
— sitting  easily  on  his  iron  gray. 

"And  your  name,  Sir  Knight?" 

"  The  Discarded,"  said  Marston,  with 
steady  eyes.  I  felt  the  Blight  start  at  my 
side  and  sidewise  I  saw  that  her  face  was 
crimson. 

The  Hon.  Sam  sat  down,  muttering,  for 
he  did  not  like  Marston : 

"  Wenchless  springal  1  " 

Just  then  my  attention  was  riveted  on 
Mollie  and  little  Buck.  Both  had  been 
staring  silently  at  the  knights  as  though 
they  were  apparitions,  but  when  Marston 
faced  them  I  saw  Buck  clutch  his  sister's 
arm  suddenly  and  say  something  excitedly 
in  her  ear.  Then  the  mouths  of  both  tight- 
[ 


AT    LAST— THE    TOURNAMENT 

ened  fiercely  and  their  eyes  seemed  to  be 
darting  lightning  at  the  unconscious  knight, 
who  suddenly  saw  them,  recognized  them, 
and  smiled  past  them  at  me.  Again  Buck 
whispered,  and  from  his  lips  I  could  make 
out  what  he  said : 

"I  wonder  whar's  Dave?"  but  Mollie 
did  not  answer. 

"Which  is  yours,  Mr.  Budd?"  asked 
the  little  sister.  The  Hon.  Sam  had 
leaned  back  with  his  thumbs  in  the  arm- 
holes  of  his  white  waistcoat. 

"  He  ain't  come  yet.  I  told  him  to  come 
last." 

The  crowd  waited  and  the  knights 
waited — so  long  that  the  Mayor  rose  in  his 
seat  some  twenty  feet  away  and  called  out : 

"  Go  ahead,  Budd." 

"  You  jus'  wait  a  minute — my  man 
ain't  come  yet,"  he  said  easily,  but  from 
[  123] 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

various  places  in  the  crowd  came  jeering 
shouts  from  the  men  with  whom  he  had 
wagered  and  the  Hon.  Sam  began  to  look 
anxious. 

"I  wonder  what  is  the  matter ?"  he 
added  in  a  lower  tone.  "  I  dressed  him 
myself  more  than  an  hour  ago  and  I  told 
him  to  come  last,  but  I  didn't  mean  for 
him  to  wait  till  Christmas — ah !  " 

The  Hon.  Sam  sank  back  in  his  seat 
again.  From  somewhere  had  come  sud 
denly  the  blare  of  a  solitary  trumpet  that 
rang  in  echoes  around  the  amphitheatre  of 
the  hills  and,  a  moment  later,  a  dazzling 
something  shot  into  sight  above  the  mound 
that  looked  like  a  ball  of  fire,  coming  in 
mid-air.  The  new  knight  wore  a  shining 
helmet  and  the  Hon.  Sam  chuckled  at  the 
murmur  that  rose  and  then  he  sat  up 
suddenly.  There  was  no  face  under 


AT    LAST— THE    TOURNAMENT 

that  helmet — the  Hon.  Sam's  knight  was 
masked  and  the  Hon.  Sam  slapped  his 
thigh  with  delight. 

"  Bully — bully!  I  never  thought  of  it 
— I  never  thought  of  it — bully !  " 

This  was  thrilling,  indeed — but  there 
was  more;  the  strange  knight's  body  was 
cased  in  a  flexible  suit  of  glistening  mail, 
his  spear  point,  when  he  raised  it  on  high, 
shone  like  silver,  and  he  came  on  like  a 
radiant  star — on  the  Hon.  Sam's  charger, 
white-bridled,  with  long  mane  and  tail  and 
black  from  tip  of  nose  to  tip  of  that  tail 
as  midnight.  The  Hon.  Sam  was  certainly 
doing  it  well.  At  a  slow  walk  the  stranger 
drew  alongside  of  Marston  and  turned  his 
spear  point  downward. 

"Gawd!"  said  an  old  darky.  "  Ku- 
klux  done  come  again."  And,  indeed,  it 
looked  like  a  Ku-klux  mask,  white,  drop- 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

ping  below  the  chin,  and  with  eye 
holes  through  which  gleamed  two  bright 
fires. 

The  eyes  of  Buck  and  Mollie  were 
turned  from  Marston  at  last,  and  open- 
mouthed  they  stared. 

"Hit's  the  same  hoss — hit's  Dave!" 
said  Buck  aloud. 

"  Well,  my  Lord!  "  said  Mollie  simply. 

The  Hon.  Sam  rose  again. 

"  And  who  is  Sir  Tardy  Knight  that 
hither  comes  with  masked  face?  "  he  asked 
courteously.  He  got  no  answer. 

"  What's  your  name,  son?  " 

The  white  mask  puffed  at  the  wearer's 
lips. 

"  The  Knight  of  the  Cumberland,"  was 
the  low,  muffled  reply. 

"  Make  him  take  that  thing  off !  " 
shouted  some  one. 

[!26] 


AT    LAST— THE    TOURNAMENT 

"  What's  he  got  it  on  fer?  "  shouted  an 
other. 

"  I  don't  know,  friend,"  said  the  Hon. 
Sam;  "  but  it  is  not  my  business  nor  prithee 
thine;  since  by  the  laws  of  the  tournament 
a  knight  may  ride  masked  for  a  specified 
time  or  until  a  particular  purpose  is 
achieved,  that  purpose  being,  I  wot,  victory 
for  himself  and  for  me  a  handful  of 
byzants  from  thee." 

"Now,  go  ahead,  Budd,"  called  the 
Mayor  again.  "Are  you  going  crazy?" 

The  Hon.  Sam  stretched  out  his  arms 
once  to  loosen  them  for  gesture,  thrust 
his  chest  out,  and  uplifted  his  chin:  "  Fair 
ladies,  nobles  of  the  realm,  and  good 
knights,"  he  said  sonorously,  and  he  raised 
one  hand  to  his  mouth  and  behind  it  spoke 
aside  to  me: 

"How's  my  voice — how's  my  voice?" 
[  127] 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

"Great!" 

His  question  was  genuine,  for  the  mask 
of  humor  had  dropped  and  the  man  was 
transformed.  I  knew  his  inner  seriousness, 
his  oratorical  command  of  good  English, 
and  I  knew  the  habit,  not  uncommon 
among  stump-speakers  in  the  South,  of 
falling,  through  humor,  carelessness,  or  for 
the  effect  of  flattering  comradeship,  into 
all  the  lingual  sins  of  rural  speech;  but  I 
was  hardly  prepared  for  the  soaring  flight 
the  Hon.  Sam  took  now.  He  started  with 
one  finger  pointed  heavenward : 

"  The  knights  are  dust 

And  their  good  swords  are  rust; 

Their  souls  are  with  the  saints,  we  trust. 

"  Scepticism  is  but  a  harmless  phantom 
in  these  mighty  hills.    We  believe  that  with 
the  saints  is  the  good  knight's  soul,  and  if, 
[I28] 


AT    LAST— THE    TOURNAMENT 

in  the  radiant  unknown,  the  eyes  of  those 
who  have  gone  before  can  pierce  the  little 
shadow  that  lies  between,  we  know  that  the 
good  knights  of  old  look  gladly  down  on 
these  good  knights  of  to-day.  For  it  is 
good  to  be  remembered.  The  tireless 
struggle  for  name  and  fame  since  the  sun 
rise  of  history  attests  it;  and  the  ancestry 
worship  in  the  East  and  the  world-wide 
hope  of  immortality  show  the  fierce  hunger 
in  the  human  soul  that  the  memory  of  it 
not  only  shall  not  perish  from  this  earth, 
but  that,  across  the  Great  Divide,  it  shall 
live  on — neither  forgetting  nor  forgotten. 
You  are  here  in  memory  of  those  good 
knights  to  prove  that  the  age  of  chivalry 
is  not  gone ;  that  though  their  good  swords 
are  rust,  the  stainless  soul  of  them  still 
illumines  every  harmless  spear  point  before 
me  and  makes  it  a  torch  that  shall  reveal, 
[129] 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

in  your  own  hearts  still  aflame,  their 
courage,  their  chivalry,  their  sense  of  pro 
tection  for  the  weak,  and  the  honor  in 
which  they  held  pure  women,  brave  men, 
and  almighty  God. 

"  The  tournament,  some  say,  goes  back 
to  the  walls  of  Troy.  The  form  of  it 
passed  with  the  windmills  that  Don 
Quixote  charged.  It  is  with  you  to  keep 
the  high  spirit  of  it  an  ever-burning  vestal 
fire.  It  was  a  deadly  play  of  old — it  is  a 
harmless  play  to  you  this  day.  But  the 
prowess  of  the  game  is  unchanged;  for  the 
skill  to  strike  those  pendent  rings  is  no  less 
than  was  the  skill  to  strike  armor-joint, 
visor,  or  plumed  crest.  It  was  of  old  an 
exercise  for  deadly  combat  on  the  field  of 
battle;  it  is  no  less  an  exercise  now  to  you 
for  the  field  of  life — for  the  quick  eye,  the 
steady  nerve,  and  the  deft  hand  which  shall 


AT    LAST— THE    TOURNAMENT 

help  you  strike  the  mark  at  which,  outside 
these  lists,  you  aim.  And  the  crowning 
triumph  is  still  just  what  it  was  of  old — 
that  to  the  victor  the  Rose  of  his  world — 
made  by  him  the  Queen  of  Love  and 
Beauty  for  us  all — shall  give  her  smile  and 
with  her  own  hands  place  on  his  brow  a 
thornless  crown." 

Perfect  silence  honored  the  Hon.  Sam 
uel  Budd.  The  Mayor  was  nodding  vig 
orous  approval,  the  jeering  ones  kept  still, 
and  when  after  the  last  deep-toned  word 
passed  like  music  from  his  lips  the  silence 
held  sway  for  a  little  while  before  the 
burst  of  applause  came.  Every  knight  had 
straightened  in  his  saddle  and  was  looking 
very  grave.  Marston's  eyes  never  left  the 
speaker's  face,  except  once,  when  they 
turned  with  an  unconscious  appeal,  I 
thought,  to  the  downcast  face  of  Blight — 


A   KNIGHT   OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

whereat  the  sympathetic  little  sister  seemed 
close  to  tears.  The  Knight  of  the  Cum 
berland  shifted  in  his  saddle  as  though  he 
did  not  quite  understand  what  was  going 
on,  and  once  Mollie,  seeing  the  eyes 
through  the  mask-holes  fixed  on  her, 
blushed  furiously,  and  little  Buck  grinned 
back  a  delighted  recognition.  The  Hon. 
Sam  sat  down,  visibly  affected  by  his  own 
eloquence;  slowly  he  wiped  his  face  and 
then  he  rose  again. 

"  Your  colors,  Sir  Knights,"  he  said, 
with  a  commanding  wave  of  his  truncheon, 
and  one  by  one  the  knights  spurred  for 
ward  and  each  held  his  lance  into  the 
grandstand  that  some  fair  one  might  tie 
thereon  the  colors  he  was  to  wear.  Mar- 
ston,  without  looking  at  the  Blight,  held  his 
up  to  the  little  sister  and  the  Blight  care 
lessly  turned  her  face  while  the  demure  sis- 


AT    LAST— THE    TOURNAMENT 

ter  was  busy  with  her  ribbons,  but  I  noticed 
that  the  little  ear  next  to  me  was  tingling 
red  for  all  her  brave  look  of  unconcern. 
Only  the  Knight  of  the  Cumberland  safe 
still. 

"  What!  "  said  the  Hon.  Sam,  rising  to 
his  feet,  his  eyes  twinkling  and  his  mask 
of  humor  on  again;  "sees  this  masked 
springal  " — the  Hon.  Sam  seemed  much 
enamored  of  that  ancient  word — "  no  maid 
so  fair  that  he  will  not  beg  from  her  the 
boon  of  colors  gay  that  he  may  carry  them 
to  victory  and  receive  from  her  hands  a 
wreath  therefor?"  Again  the  Knight  of 
the  Cumberland  seemed  not  to  know  that 
the  Hon.  Sam's  winged  words  were  meant 
for  him,  so  the  statesman  translated  them 
into  a  mutual  vernacular. 

"  Remember  what  I  told  you,  son,"  he 
said.  "  Hold  up  yoj  spear  here  to  some 

1 133  ] 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

one  of  these  gals  jes'  like  the  other  fellows 
are  doin',"  and  as  he  sat  down  he  tried 
surreptitiously  to  indicate  the  Blight  with 
his  index  finger,  but  the  knight  failed  to  see 
and  the  Blight's  face  was  so  indignant 
and  she  rebuked  him  with  such  a  knife-like 
whisper  that,  humbled,  the  Hon.  Sam  col 
lapsed  in  his  seat,  muttering: 

"  The  fool  don't  know  you — he  don't 
know  you." 

For  the  Knight  of  the  Cumberland  had 
turned  the  black  horse's  head  and  was  rid 
ing,  like  Ivanhoe,  in  front  of  the  nobles 
and  ladies,  his  eyes  burning  up  at  them 
through  the  holes  in  his  white  mask. 
Again  he  turned,  his  mask  still  uplifted,  and 
the  behavior  of  the  beauties  there,  as  on 
the  field  of  Ashby,  was  no  whit  changed: 
"  Some  blushed,  some  assumed  an  air  of 
pride  and  dignity,  some  looked  straight 

[134] 


AT   LAST— THE    TOURNAMENT 

forward  and  essayed  to  seem  utterly  un 
conscious  of  what  was  going  on,  some  drew 
back  in  alarm  which  was  perhaps  affected, 
some  endeavored  to  forbear  smiling  and 
there  were  two  or  three  who  laughed  out 
right."  Only  none  "  dropped  a  veil  over 
her  charms  "  and  thus  none  incurred  the 
suspicion,  as  on  that  field  of  Ashby,  that 
she  was  "  a  beauty  of  ten  years'  standing  " 
whose  motive,  gallant  Sir  Walter  supposes 
in  defence,  however,  was  doubtless  "  a 
surfeit  of  such  vanities  and  a  willingness 
to  give  a  fair  chance  to  the  rising  beauties 
of  the  age."  But  the  most  conscious  of  the 
fair  was  Mollie  below,  whose  face  was 
flushed  and  whose  brown  fingers  were 
nervously  twisting  the  ribbons  in  her  lap, 
and  I  saw  Buck  nudge  her  and  heard  him 
whisper ; 

"  Dave  ain't  going  to  pick  you  out,  I 

c  135  ] 


A  KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

tell  ye.  I  heered  Mr.  Budd  thar  myself 
tell  him  he  had  to  pick  out  some  other 
gal." 

"You  hush!  "  said  Mollie  indignantly. 

It  looked  as  though  the  Knight  of  the 
Cumberland  had  grown  rebellious  and 
meant  to  choose  whom  he  pleased,  but  on 
his  way  back  the  Hon.  Sam  must  have 
given  more  surreptitious  signs,  for  the 
Knight  of  the  Cumberland  reined  in  before 
the  Blight  and  held  up  his  lance  to  her. 
Straightway  the  colors  that  were  meant  for 
Marston  fluttered  from  the  Knight  of  the 
Cumberland's  spear.  I  saw  Marston  bite 
his  lips  and  I  saw  Mollie's  face  aflame  with 
fury  and  her  eyes  darting  lightning — no 
longer  at  Marston  now,  but  at  the  Blight. 
The  mountain  girl  held  nothing  against  the 
city  girl  because  of  the  Wild  Dog's  in 
fatuation,  but  that  her  own  lover,  no  matter 


AT    LAST— THE    TOURNAMENT 

what  the  Hon.  Sam  said,  should  give  his 
homage  also  to  the  Blight,  in  her  own 
presence,  was  too  much.  Mollie  looked 
around  no  more.  Again  the  Hon.  Sam 
rose. 

"  Love  of  ladies,"  he  shouted,  "  splin 
tering  of  lances!  Stand  forth,  gallant 
knights.  Fair  eyes  look  upon  your  deeds  1 
Toot  again,  son!  " 

Now  just  opposite  the  grandstand  was  a 
post  some  ten  feet  high,  with  a  small  beam 
projecting  from  the  top  toward  the  spec 
tators.  From  the  end  of  this  hung  a  wire, 
the  end  of  which  was  slightly  upturned  in 
line  with  the  course,  and  on  the  tip  of  this 
wire  a  steel  ring  about  an  inch  in  diameter 
hung  lightly.  Nearly  forty  yards  below 
this  was  a  similar  ring  similarly  arranged; 
and  at  a  similar  distance  below  that  was 
still  another,  and  at  the  blast  from  the 

[  137  ] 


A  KNIGHT   OF   THE   CUMBERLAND 

Hon.  Sam's  herald,  the  gallant  knights 
rode  slowly,  two  by  two,  down  the  lists  to 
the  western  extremity  —  the  Discarded 
Knight  and  the  Knight  of  the  Cumberland, 
stirrup  to  stirrup,  riding  last — where  they 
all  drew  up  in  line,  some  fifty  yards  be 
yond  the  westernmost  post.  This  distance 
they  took  that  full  speed  might  be  attained 
before  jousting  at  the  first  ring,  since  the 
course — much  over  one  hundred  yards  long 
— must  be  covered  in  seven  seconds  or  less, 
which  was  no  slow  rate  of  speed.  The 
Hon.  Sam  arose  again: 

"  The  Knight  of  the  Holston!  " 
Farther  down  the  lists  a  herald  took  up 
the  same  cry  and  the  good  knight  of  Athel- 
stanic  build  backed  his  steed  from  the  line 
and  took  his  place  at  the  head  of  the 
course. 

With  his  hickory  truncheon  the  Hon. 

1 138  ] 


AT    LAST— THE    TOURNAMENT 

Sam  signed  to  his  trumpeter  to  sound  the 
onset. 

"  Now,  son !  "  he  said. 

With  the  blare  of  the  trumpet  Athel- 
stane  sprang  from  his  place  and  came  up 
the  course,  his  lance  at  rest;  a  tinkling 
sound  and  the  first  ring  slipped  down  the 
knight's  spear  and  when  he  swept  past  the 
last  post  there  was  a  clapping  of  hands,  for 
he  held  three  rings  triumphantly  aloft. 
And  thus  they  came,  one  by  one,  until  each 
had  run  the  course  three  times,  the  Dis 
carded  jousting  next  to  the  last  and  the 
Knight  of  the  Cumberland,  riding  with  a 
reckless  Cave,  Adsum  air,  the  very  last.  At 
the  second  joust  it  was  quite  evident  that 
the  victory  lay  between  these  two,  as  they 
only  had  not  lost  a  single  ring,  and  when 
the  black  horse  thundered  by,  the  Hon.  Sam 
shouted  "  Brave  lance  I  "  and  jollied  his 
[139] 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

betting  enemies,  while  Buck  hugged  him 
self  triumphantly  and  Mollie  seemed  tem 
porarily  to  lose  her  chagrin  and  anger  in 
pride  of  her  lover,  Dave.  On  the  third 
running  the  Knight  of  the  Cumberland 
excited  a  sensation  by  sitting  upright, 
waving  his  lance  up  and  down  between  the 
posts  and  lowering  it  only  when  the  ring 
was  within  a  few  feet  of  its  point.  His 
recklessness  cost  him  one  ring,  but  as  the 
Discarded  had  lost  one,  they  were  still 
tied,  with  eight  rings  to  the  credit  of  each, 
for  the  first  prize.  Only  four  others  were 
left — the  Knight  of  the  Holston  and  the 
Knight  of  the  Green  Valley  tying  with 
seven  rings  for  second  prize,  and  the  fat 
Maxwelton  Braes  and  the  Knight  at  Large 
tying  with  six  rings  for  the  third.  The 
crowd  was  eager  now  and  the  Hon.  Sam 
confident.  On  came  the  Knight  at  Large, 


AT   LAST— THE    TOURNAMENT 

his  face  a  rainbow,  his  plume  wilted  and 
one  red  base-ball  stocking  slipped  from  its 
moorings — two  rings !  On  followed  the  fat 
Maxwelton,  his  plaid  streaming  and  his  kilts 
flapping  about  his  fat  legs — also  two  rings ! 

"  Egad !  "  quoth  the  Hon.  Sam.  "  Did 
yon  lusty  trencherman  of  Annie  Laurie's 
but  put  a  few  more  layers  of  goodly  flesh 
about  his  ribs,  thereby  projecting  more  his 
frontal  Falstaffian  proportions,  by  my  hali- 
dom,  he  would  have  to  joust  tandem!  " 

On  came  Athelstane  and  the  Knight  of 
the  Green  Valley,  both  with  but  two  rings 
to  their  credit,  and  on  followed  the  Dis 
carded,  riding  easily,  and  the  Knight  of  the 
Cumberland  again  waving  his  lance  be 
tween  the  posts,  each  with  three  rings  on 
his  spear.  At  the  end  the  Knight  at  Large 
stood  third,  Athelstane  second,  and  the 
Discarded  and  the  Knight  of  the  Cumber- 


A   KNIGHT    OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

land  stood  side  by  side  at  the  head  of  the 
course,  still  even,  and  now  ready  to  end  the 
joust,  for  neither  on  the  second  trial  had 
missed  a  ring. 

The  excitement  was  intense  now.  Many 
people  seemed  to  know  who  the  Knight  of 
the  Cumberland  was,  for  there  were  shouts 
of  "  Go  it,  Dave!  "  from  everywhere;  the 
rivalry  of  class  had  entered  the  contest  and 
now  it  was  a  conflict  between  native  and 
"  furriner."  The  Hon.  Sam  was  almost 
beside  himself  with  excitement;  now  and 
then  some  man  with  whom  he  had  made 
a  bet  would  shout  jeeringly  at  him  and  the 
Hon.  Sam  would  shout  back  defiance.  But 
when  the  trumpet  sounded  he  sat  leaning 
forward  with  his  brow  wrinkled  and  his 
big  hands  clinched  tight.  Marston  sped 
up  the  course  first — three  rings — and  there 
was  a  chorus  of  applauding  yells. 


AT    LAST— THE    TOURNAMENT 

"  His  horse  is  gittin'  tired,"  said  the 
Hon.  Sam  jubilantly,  and  the  Blight's  face, 
I  noticed,  showed  for  the  first  time  faint 
traces  of  indignation.  The  Knight  of  the 
Cumberland  was  taking  no  theatrical 
chances  now  and  he  came  through  the 
course  with  level  spear  and,  with  three 
rings  on  it,  he  shot  by  like  a  thunder 
bolt. 

"Hooray!"  shouted  the  Hon.  Sam. 
"  Lord,  what  a  horse !  "  For  the  first  time 
the  Blight,  I  observed,  failed  to  applaud, 
while  Mollie  was  clapping  her  hands  and 
Buck  was  giving  out  shrill  yells  of  en 
couragement.  At  the  next  tilt  the  Hon. 
Sam  had  his  watch  in  his  hand  and  when 
he  saw  the  Discarded  digging  in  his  spurs 
he  began  to  smile  and  he  was  looking  at 
his  watch  when  the  little  tinkle  in  front  told 
him  that  the  course  was  run. 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

"Did  he  get 'em  all?" 
'  Yes,  he  got  'em  all,"  mimicked  the 
Blight. 

"  Yes,  an'  he  just  did  make  it,"  chuckled 
the  Hon.  Sam.  The  Discarded  had 
wheeled  his  horse  aside  from  the  course  to 
watch  his  antagonist.  He  looked  pale  and 
tired — almost  as  tired  as  his  foam-covered 
steed — but  his  teeth  were  set  and  his  face 
was  unmoved  as  the  Knight  of  the  Cum-' 
berland  came  on  like  a  demon,  sweeping 
off  the  last  ring  with  a  low,  rasping  oath 
of  satisfaction. 

"  I   never    seed    Dave    ride    that-a-way 
afore,"  said  Mollie. 

"  Me,  neither,"  chimed  in  Buck. 

The    nobles    and    ladies    were    waving 
handkerchiefs,  clapping  hands,  and  shout 
ing.    The  spectators  of  better  degree  were 
throwing  up  their  hats  and  from  every  part 
[  144] 


AT    LAST— THE    TOURNAMENT 

of  the  multitude  the  same  hoarse  shout  of 
encouragement  rose :  * 

"Go  it,  Dave!  Hooray  for  Dave!" 
while  the  boy  on  the  telegraph-pole  was 
seen  to  clutch  wildly  at  the  crossbar  on 
which  he  sat — he  had  come  near  tumbling 
from  his  perch. 

The  two  knights  rode  slowly  back  to  the 
head  of  the  lists,  where  the  Discarded 
was  seen  to  dismount  and  tighten  his 
girth. 

"  He's  tryin'  to  git  time  to  rest,"  said 
the  Hon.  Sam.  "  Toot,  son !  " 

"  Shame !  "  said  the  little  sister  and  the 
Blight  both  at  once  so  severely  that  the 
Hon.  Sam  quickly  raised  his  hand. 

"  Hold  on,"  he  said,  and  with  hand  still 
uplifted  he  waited  till  Marston  was 
mounted  again.  "  Now!  " 

The  Discarded  came  on,  using  his  spurs 


A  KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

with  every  jump,  the  red  of  his  horse's  nos 
trils  showing  that  far  away,  and  he  swept 
on,  spearing  off  the  rings  with  deadly 
accuracy  and  holding  the  three  aloft,  but 
'having  no  need  to  pull  in  his  panting  steed, 
who  stopped  of  his  own  accord.  Up  went 
a  roar,  but  the  Hon.  Sam,  covertly  glancing 
at  his  watch,  still  smiled.  That  watch  he 
pulled  out  when  the  Knight  of  the  Cum 
berland  started  and  he  smiled  still  when 
he  heard  the  black  horse's  swift,  rhythmic 
beat  and  he  looked  up  only  when  that 
knight,  shouting  to  his  horse,  moved  his 
lance  up  and  down  before  coming  to  the 
last  ring  and,  with  a  dare-devil  yell,  swept 
it  from  the  wire. 

«  Tied— tied!  "  was  the  shout;  "  they've 
got  to  try  it  again!  they've  got  to  try  it 
again!  " 

The  Hon.  Sam  rose,  with  his  watch  in 
[146] 


AT   LAST— THE    TOURNAMENT 

one  hand  and  stilling  the  tumult  with  the 
other.  Dead  silence  came  at  once. 

"  I  fear  me,"  he  said,  "  that  the  good 
knight,  the  Discarded,  has  failed  to  make 
the  course  in  the  time  required  by  the  laws 
of  the  tournament."  Bedlam  broke  loose 
again  and  the  Hon.  Sam  waited,  still 
gesturing  for  silence. 

"  Summon  the  time-keeper!  "  he  said. 

The  time-keeper  appeared  from  the 
middle  of  the  field  and  nodded. 

"  Eight  seconds !  " 

"  The  Knight  of  the  Cumberland  wins," 
said  the  Hon.  Sam. 

The  little  sister,  unconscious  of  her  own. 
sad  face,  nudged  me  to  look  at  the  Blight 
— there  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

Before  the  grandstand  the  knights 
slowly  drew  up  again.  Marston's  horse 

[147] 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE   CUMBERLAND 

was  so  lame  and  tired  that  he  dismounted 
and  let  a  darky  boy  lead  him  under  the 
shade  of  the  trees.  But  he  stood  on  foot 
among  the  other  knights,  his  arms  folded, 
worn  out  and  vanquished,  but  taking  his 
bitter  medicine  like  a  man.  I  thought 
the  Blight's  eyes  looked  pityingly  upon 
him. 

The  Hon.  Sam  arose  with  a  crown  o£ 
laurel  leaves  in  his  hand: 

"  You  have  fairly  and  gallantly  won, 
Sir  Knight  of  the  Cumberland,  and  it  is 
now  your  right  to  claim  and  receive  from 
the  hands  of  the  Queen  of  Love  and 
Beauty  the  chaplet  of  honor  which  your 
skill  has  justly  deserved.  Advance,  Sir 
Knight  of  the  Cumberland,  and  dis 
mount!  " 

The  Knight  of  the  Cumberland  made  no 
move  nor  sound. 

[  148 1 


AT    LAST— THE    TOURNAMENT 

"  Get  off  yo'  hoss,  son,"  said  the  Hon. 
Sam  kindly,  "  and  get  down  on  yo1  knees 
at  the  feet  of  them  steps.  This  fair  young 
Queen  is  a-goin'  to  put  this  chaplet  on  your 
shinin'  brow.  That  horse'll  stand." 

The  Knight  of  the  Cumberland,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  threw  his  leg  over  the 
saddle  and  came  to  the  steps  with  a  slouch 
ing  gait  and  looking  about  him  right  and 
left.  The  Blight,  blushing  prettily,  took 
the  chaplet  and  went  down  the  steps  to 
meet  him. 

"Unmask!"  I  shouted. 

"  Yes,  son,"  said  the  Hon.  Sam,  "  take 
that  rag  off." 

Then  Mollie's  voice,  clear  and  loud, 
startled  the  crowd.  "  You  better  not, 
Dave  Branham,  fer  if  you  do  and  this 
other  gal  puts  that  thing  on  you,  you'll 
never — "  What  penalty  she  was  going  to 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

inflict,  I  don't  know,  for  the  Knight  of  the 
Cumberland,  half  kneeling,  sprang  sud 
denly  to  his  feet  and  interrupted  her. 
"  Wait  a  minute,  will  ye?  "  he  said  almost 
fiercely,  and  at  the  sound  of  his  voice 
Mollie  rose  to  her  feet  and  her  face 
blanched. 

"Lord  God!"  she  said  almost  in  an 
guish,  and  then  she  dropped  quickly  to  her 
seat  again. 

The  Knight  of  the  Cumberland  had 
gone  back  to  his  horse  as  though  to  get 
something  from  his  saddle.  Like  lightning 
he  vaulted  into  the  saddle,  and  as  the  black 
horse  sprang  toward  the  opening  tore  his 
mask  from  his  face,  turned  in  his  stirrups, 
and  brandished  his  spear  with  a  yell  of 
defiance,  while  a  dozen  voices  shouted: 

"The  Wild  Dog!"  Then  was  there 
an  uproar. 


AT    LAST— THE    TOURNAMENT 

"Coddle  mighty!"  shouted  the  Hon. 
Sam.  "  I  didn't  do  it,  I  swear  1  didn't 
know  it.  He's  tricked  me — he's  tricked 
me!  Don't  shoot — you  might  hit  that 
hoss!" 

There  was  no  doubt  about  the  Hon. 
Sam's  innocence.  Instead  of  turning  over 
'an  outlaw  to  the  police,  he  had  brought 
him  into  the  inner  shrine  of  law  and  order 
and  he  knew  what  a  political  asset  for  his 
enemies  that  insult  would  be.  And  there 
was  no  doubt  of  the  innocence  of  Mollie 
and  Buck  as  they  stood,  Mollie  wringing 
her  hands  and  Buck  with  open  mouth  and 
startled  face.  There  was  no  doubt  about 
the  innocence  of  anybody  other  than  Dave 
Branham  and  the  dare-devil  Knight  of  the 
Cumberland. 

Marston  had  clutched  at  the  Wild  Dog's 
bridle  and  missed  and  the  outlaw  struck 


A  KNIGHT   OF   THE    CUMBERLAND 

savagely  at  him  with  his  spear.  Nobody 
dared  to  shoot  because  of  the  scattering 
crowd,  but  every  knight  and  every  mounted 
policeman  took  out  after  the  outlaw  and 
the  beating  of  hoofs  pounded  over  the 
little  mound  and  toward  Poplar  Hill. 
Marston  ran  to  his  horse  at  the  upper  end, 
threw  his  saddle  on,  and  hesitated — there 
were  enough  after  the  Wild  Dog  and  his 
horse  was  blown.  He  listened  to  the  yells 
and  sounds  of  the  chase  encircling  Poplar 
Hill.  The  outlaw  was  making  for  Lee. 
All  at  once  the  yells  and  hoof-beats  seemed 
to  sound  nearer  and  Marston  listened, 
astonished.  The  Wild  Dog  had  wheeled 
and  was  coming  back;  he  was  going  to 
make  for  the  Gap,  where  sure  safety  lay. 
Marston  buckled  his  girth  and  as  he  sprang 
on  his  horse,  unconsciously  taking  his  spear 
with  him,  the  Wild  Dog  dashed  from  the 


AT   LAST— THE    TOURNAMENT 

trees  at  the  far  end  of  the  field.  As  Mar- 
ston  started  the  Wild  Dog  saw  him,  pulled 
something  that  flashed  from  under  his  coat 
of  mail,  thrust  it  back  again,  and  brandish 
ing  his  spear,  he  came,  full  speed  and 
yelling,  up  the  middle  of  the  field.  It  was 
a  strange  thing  to  happen  in  these  modern, 
days,  but  Marston  was  an  officer  of  the 
law  and  was  between  the  Wild  Dog  and 
the  Ford  and  liberty  through  the  Gap,  into 
the  hills.  The  Wild  Dog  was  an  outlaw. 
It  was  Marston's  duty  to  take  him. 

The  law  does  not  prescribe  with  what 
weapon  the  lawless  shall  be  subdued,  and 
Marston's  spear  was  the  only  weapon  he 
had.  Moreover,  the  Wild  Dog's  yell  was 
a  challenge  that  set  his  blood  afire  and 
the  girl  both  loved  was  looking  on.  The 
crowd  gathered  the  meaning  of  the  joust — 
the  knights  were  crashing  toward  each 

[153] 


A   KNIGHT    OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

other  with  spears  at  rest.  There  were  a 
few  surprised  oaths  from  men,  a  few  low 
cries  from  women,  and  then  dead  silence 
in  which  the  sound  of  hoofs  on  the  hard 
turf  was  like  thunder.  The  Blight's  face 
-was  white  and  the  little  sister  was  gripping 
my  arm  with  both  hands.  A  third  horse 
man  shot  into  view  out  of  the  woods  at 
right  angles,  to  stop  them,  and  it  seemed 
that  the  three  horses  must  crash  together 
in  a  heap.  With  a  moan  the  Blight  buried 
her  face  on  my  shoulder.  She  shivered 
when  the  muffled  thud  of  body  against 
body  and  the  splintering  of  wood  rent  the. 
air;  a  chorus  of  shrieks  arose  about  her, 
and  when  she  lifted  her  frightened  face 
Marston,  the  Discarded,  was  limp  on  the 
ground,  his  horse  was  staggering  to  his 
feet,  and  the  Wild  Dog  was  galloping  past 
her,  his  helmet  gleaming,  his  eyes  ablaze, 

[154] 


AT    LAST— THE    TOURNAMENT 

his  teeth  set,  the  handle  of  his  broken 
spear  clinched  in  his  right  hand,  and  blood 
streaming  down  the  shoulder  of  the  black 
horse.  She  heard  the  shots  that  were  sent 
after  him,  she  heard  him  plunge  into  the 
river,  and  then  she  saw  and  heard  no 
more. 


I  155  1 


VIII 

THE   KNIGHT   PASSES 

\  TELEGRAM  summoned  the  Blight 
~L*»  home  next  day.  Marston  was  in 
bed  with  a  ragged  wound  in  the  shoulder, 
and  I  took  her  to  tell  him  good-by.  I  left 
the  room  for  a  few  minutes,  and  when  I 
came  back  their  hands  were  unclasping,  and 
for  a  Discarded  Knight  the  engineer  surely 
wore  a  happy  though  pallid  face. 

That  afternoon  the  train  on  which  we 
left  the  Gap  was  brought  to  a  sudden  halt 
in  Wildcat  Valley  by  a  piece  of  red  flan 
nel  tied  to  the  end  of  a  stick  that  was 
planted  midway  the  track.  Across  the 


THE    KNIGHT    PASSES 


track,  farther  on,  lay  a  heavy  piece  of 
timber,  and  it  was  plain  that  somebody 
meant  that,  just  at  that  place,  the  train 
must  stop.  The  Blight  and  I  were  seated 
on  the  rear  platform  and  the  Blight  was 
taking  a  last  look  at  her  beloved  hills. 
When  the  train  started  again,  there  was 
a  cracking  of  twigs  overhead  and  a 
shower  of  rhododendron  leaves  and 
flowers  dropped  from  the  air  at  the  feet 
of  the  Blight.  And  when  we  pulled  away 
from  the  high-walled  cut  we  saw,  mo 
tionless  on  a  little  mound,  a  black  horse, 
and  on  him,  motionless,  the  Knight  of  the 
Cumberland,  the  helmet  on  his  head  (that 
the  Blight  might  know  who  he  was,  no 
doubt),  and  both  hands  clasping  the 
broken  handle  of  his  spear,  which  rested 
across  the  pommel  of  his  saddle.  Impul 
sively  the  Blight  waved  her  hand  to  him 

[is?] 


A   KNIGHT   OF    THE    CUMBERLAND 

and  I  could  not  help  waving  my  hat;  but 
he  sat  like  a  statue  and,  like  a  statue,  sat 
on,  simply  looking  after  us  as  we  were 
hurried  along,  until  horse,  broken  shaft, 
and  shoulders  sank  out  of  sight.  And  thus 
passed  the  Knight  of  the  Cumberland  with 
the  last  gleam  that  struck  his  helmet, 
spear-like,  from  the  slanting  sun. 


THE   END 


[158] 


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LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

BookSlip-50m-9,'70(N9877s8)458 — A-31/5, 


N?  811795 


PS  1702 
Fox,   J.  K6 

A  knight  of  the  Cumber 
land. 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


